American Heavy Metal
by Yanagi-wa
Summary: Gibbs and Co have to take leave time or lose it. They decide to take a road trip on motorcycles. They visit Gibbs Dad and go camping and fishing.
1. Chapter 1

American Heavy Metal

Beta'ed by Jake and Jordre. (Thanks, Ladies.)

. Chapter One .

Tony eyed the report and sighed. "Well, there's no choice." He wasn't complaining. "We've been on duty for the last six months. That includes eight missions, not to mention all the cases I've been on between missions. And ..." he checked the report again. "We've all built up enough leave time that we're going to start losing it. Belt will go mental. He hates that. So ..." He pulled a yellow legal pad to hand on the arm of the couch and started making notes.

It didn't take him long to figure out that the four SEALs all had at least two weeks of leave that they had to take. They also had bonuses and overtime.

A bit of creative computer work yielded the information that Gibbs, Tim, and Jimmy also had use-it-or-lose-it time. Ducky and Abby didn't, but they both tended to take their days 'as needed' instead of saving them. Or just not having time to take a day here and there.

Tim wandered in from the kitchen. "AJ, supper's about ready."

"Ok, I'll go wash up." Tony closed his laptop, put it on the coffee table, and ambled out to wash.

Tim took a look at Tony's notes. "Okay, we all have to take two weeks off or lose the time?"

Tony hollered, "Yeah," from the bathroom.

"Um ... AJ?" Tim nearly jumped out of his skin when Tony poked him in the side. "Damn it, I'm gonna make you wear a bell."

Tony snickered. "Sorry. So ... two weeks leave time. You wanted something?"

"What did we do with those bucket lists? The ones we made out after O'Shay's." Tim had wondered about those from time to time.

Tony shrugged. "No idea. Knowing Jet, they're still at his place. Probably right on the counter where we dumped 'em."

Tim frowned. "No, I don't think so. Jet doesn't leave stuff lying around that long. Bet he filed them in his office. Somewhere."

Tony acknowledged the truth of that by calling Remy. "Remy, take a look around. See if you can't find those bucket lists we did."

Remy tucked the phone between his cheek and shoulder. "'Kay. Gimme a sec." He rummaged around in what they all called the funny file, a file of silly emails, bad cartoons, and other things they found amusing. "Yup, here they are. What do you want me to do with 'em?"

Tony thought about that for a moment. "Scan 'em and send 'em to me."

Tim put a plate in front of Tony and dropped a fork on it. "Eat. Now." He took the phone from Tony and said, "AJ's eating now. Bye," and thumbed the disconnect.

Tony picked up the fork and dug into his spaghetti carbonara. He and Tim took turns with cooking and clean up. They had turned out to have very similar tastes, so cooking wasn't the chore it could have been.

"Good. Did a good job." Tony forked up another bite of spaghetti.

"Thanks. Glad you like it." Tim smiled. "I was wondering if it would be worth the trouble to buy a tangine."

"No. Just use the crock pot. I think some of those fancy cooking things are just ostentatious affectation. "He grinned at Tim. "Makes a great show when you've got company." Tony sipped his wine. "Don't really need it. And you know the guys don't care." He fiddled with his glass, thinking.

Tim smiled at that. Tony wanted him to do something but didn't want to impose. "Just fucking ask already."

"Okay. I was hoping that you'd take all those bucket lists and do a spread sheet or something. Need to figure out something that all of us would like to do. Jimmy included."

Tim nodded absently; he was already planning the spread. "Need to include danger factor? Or just go for it?"

"Don't want to do anything that'll get someone really hurt. So ... no explosions." Tony poked at his plate, wondering if he wanted more. Deciding no, he picked up the bottle of wine. "More?" he motioned to Tim's glass with the bottle.

"Just half. I'm going to check my email for those lists. Won't take me long to drop them into a sheet." Tim picked up his glass and took an appreciative sip. "Very good."

Tony grinned. "Worked as a sommelier for an undercover; took the opportunity to learn what I could." Tony was proud of his ability to pick wine. He didn't care about the cost that much, just that it was good.

Tim quickly finished the spreadsheet, which listed everything they'd put on their bucket lists, including Jimmy's wish to compete in the Barber Shop Quartet International finals. He mumbled, "Well, that's not gonna happen. But ..." Tim grinned at Tony. "Ok, AJ, we've got a winner."

Tony grinned. "Like that look. What is it?"

Tim checked his spreadsheet again. "Of Dean, Remy, Cosmo and you. All four want to take a road trip. Three of you on motorcycles. Jimmy and Gibbs want a road trip. Gibbs wants to buy a Harley. Me? Road trip on a motor sounds great. You?"

"Sounds like a done deal to me."

"But ... where are we going to get motors? And ... Jimmy can't afford one." Tim bit his lip, wondering how to make it all work.

Tony thought as he sipped at his wine. "I'm not sure ... but ... ever heard of a junkyard hog?"

Tim shook his head. "No. What's that?"

"Motor made out of ... well, junkyard parts. Take several totaled bikes and use the good parts to make one. I know a guy who does that. They're all certified road-ready and not that expensive. Bet he'd do us a real deal." Tony finished his wine. "Once we find out who really wants to go and who doesn't, I'll give him a call and see what sort of deal he'll give us."

They cleaned the kitchen then went to their work. Tim had several things to do to wrap up something for another team, while Tony just had a bale of paperwork to do to get their leave. He was responsible for all the paperwork for the SEALs, and most of it for Gibbs' team. Gibbs did his own work but, as SFA, Tony was responsible for signing off on the reports for the rest of the team. Their latest TDA was an inoffensive bean counter who'd done a decent job, until they'd gotten into a physical confrontation with a CPO, then he'd fallen apart at the seams. He was now in Cyber Crime counting bits.

.

Gibbs eyed the memo with disgust. "AJ! Damn it. What did you do that for?"

"Because we need the down time and so do you. You're getting bitchy. Here." Tony handed Gibbs the spread sheet with the overlapping entries highlighted.

Gibbs snorted into his coffee. "I am not bitchy, asshole."

Tony just pointed to Gibbs with both index fingers then waggled his hands. "Talk to the jazz hands, 'cause the truth is its own defense. Grumpy."

Gibbs gave up. He really was grumpier than normal. He admitted to being tired. Tony being gone on missions wore on him in more ways than one. One, he worried about Tony. Two, he took over as SFA, as well as Team Lead, and accepted a TDA; both things annoyed him. One of the reasons he was so resistant to having a TDA was ― he had to train them to do things that Tony already knew how to do. And he didn't feel it was fair to Tim to have him take over as SFA then step down again every time Tony was gone.

Added to that, Tim had admitted that he much preferred being the team 'geek'. He loved finding the data they needed, loved hacking computer systems that were thought un-hackable. He actively hated all the paper work required of an SFA; it couldn't be digitized.

It didn't take long for Gibbs to initial the leave forms and sign off on the whole team getting time off. He checked with Ducky and found that the older man had made arrangements to go to a conference in Las Vegas which he was looking forward to. He was delighted to find out that the rest of the team was taking time off, saying with brutal frankness, "Excellent. Jethro, you need time off, you're becoming something of a horse's arse." Gibbs snorted and hung up.

Abby, on the other hand, wasn't that happy. She didn't have any time off left on the books, so she couldn't go to the conference, even though she'd been invited to present; she'd used all her leave time to attend an earlier conference. She was going to have to work with secondary teams for the two weeks the team would be off. She wasn't happy about that at all. But, being Abby, she said she'd make the best of it... maybe even teach the secondary teams a few things. Gibbs had snickered at her tone of voice.

So now all they had to do was figure out what they were going to do with two weeks of down time. Gibbs was sure he knew, but he wasn't leaving this to fate― he called everyone and told them, "My place, 19:00, bring food."

They gathered in Gibbs' kitchen for dinner and, as Abby said, "Think tanking."

Tony passed copies of the spreadsheet around. "I know we were all pretty drunk, hung over, whatever, when we filled these out ... so, if something you wrote down was just bullshit, cross it off. Hand the sheet back and Digimon will redo it."

It didn't take them long to go over the sheets. No one crossed anything off, so they took a vote. Ducky abstained, but Abby demanded a vote, saying, "I wasn't drunk, but there's at least three things on the list I want to do too." She grinned at the group. "I'd love to bungee jump off that bridge."

Gibbs winced while Tim asked, "Which one?"

"That one in Colorado." Abby bounced at the thought.

"Royal Gorge?" Remy pulled out his tablet to check things out.

"Yeah, that one."

Tim punctured Abby's bubble. "Sorry, Abs, it's illegal. There's a dozen bridges that used to be okay, but people got hurt and someone passed an ordinance, or law, depending on ... stuff you're not interested in. But, it means no jumping off it."

Abby mock pouted for a second but brightened when Dean said, "Well, there's always wing-suiting off the Grand Canyon. I think they still let you, if you make arrangements with someone."

Remy snorted. "No for me. I'm not Rocky."

Gibbs looked a bit blank. Cosmo explained, "The flying squirrel. It's actually where someone got the idea for the suit. Or so I've been told."

Tony fiddled with his iPad for a moment then said, "You can't base jump anywhere in the park. Too many idiots got themselves killed. Well, damn."

Abby shrugged. "It's a bucket list. You can base jump somewhere, I'm sure."

Ducky sighed. "I was once an adventurous lad, but I'll never understand this passion for jumping off high places." He smiled, "But an airplane? That's another thing altogether." He sipped his coffee with a slight, secretive smile.

Gibbs eyed him for a moment, then just said, "White Cliffs of Dover."

"And that, my friend, is why."

Everyone demanded the story but Ducky refused to tell, as did Gibbs. They both claimed that it was too late at night to get drunk enough. Everyone let it drop as it was obvious that neither man wanted to talk about it. They returned to the discussion instead.

It didn't take long for them all to agree with Tony's first assessment: a road trip on motorcycles was the way to go; if they happened to manage something else from someone's list, great; if not, no harm done.

Tony grumbled, "I've got a motor up at NCIS." He blinked at the puzzled looks. "In the hanger with my chopper, remember?" Gibbs nodded while Jimmy looked a bit blank and Tim grinned. "But we still need to get everyone else one."

Abby nodded. "That's right. But .." She frowned. "I'm not that sure about Tim and Jimmy. I mean, I ..." She sighed, "This is not coming out right."

Jimmy nodded eagerly. "I understand. Motorcycles aren't called murdercycles for nothing. But ... I know how to ride. I had a scooter when I was younger. And an uncle of mine rides, so I've ridden his."

Tim, on the other hand, wasn't experienced. "I always wanted to ride but ... I've never had a chance and ... I'm not sure I'd be much good at it. Other options?"

Jimmy brightened. "I know. That uncle I was telling you about? He made a trike, but he doesn't like it. I bet he'd let me borrow it ... on a more or less permanent basis." He managed to look inordinately pleased with himself. "Tim could ride with me. And it's got ... not a huge one ... but a trunk and there's enough room in it for a tent and some camping gear."

Tony glanced at Gibbs, who nodded slightly. "Okay, that takes care of me, Tim and Jimmy. Leaves Cosmo, Dean, Gibbs and Remy to deal with. Suggestions? And that includes you two." he eyed Abby and Ducky.

Abby thought while Ducky just said, "I know next to nothing about any of that sort of thing. I think I'll limit myself to inspecting the first aid kits." He smiled genially. "And, if someone doesn't mind, I'll have another cup of that excellent tea."

Jimmy got up and went into the kitchen to make Ducky's tea. Gibbs kept all the things he needed as Ducky was a regular and welcome visitor. All the SEALs loved the elderly doctor and listened to his stories with every evidence of enjoyment. Jimmy loved the evenings they could just sit in front of the fireplace and share intern stories.

Jimmy returned with Ducky's tea just in time to hear Abby on her phone.

"I know. But they need them soon... ish." Abby glanced at Tony.

He signed, 'Five days.'

Abby conveyed that then listened. "Okay, I think they all want some sort of big cruiser." She eyed the group, taking a quick 'eye count'. "Yeah, need four. It'd be nice if they had sort of matchy paint jobs too."

Jimmy hissed, "Ask them if they can paint a trike. Mine is mostly primer still."

Abby passed the message on and found out that the only bikes available weren't painted yet so they'd be happy to paint all the bikes and the trike the same colors. They'd be ready the day after leave began; or in a week, whichever came first. Before he hung up, Abby's friend, who also turned out to be Tony's contact, asked for names. She replied, "Dean, Cosmo, Remy, Jet. Jimmy's bringing in the trike. Bye." She hung up then said, "I'm really, really jealous. I'd love to go but..." her eyes twinkled, "Vegas and a forensic convention. Can't pass that up."

Ducky chuckled. "So you'll not be the only one still here? But, my dear girl, I thought you were going to have to stay. Out of time from going to that last convention."

Abby grinned. "I was, but ... I sort of whined at Vance that it was such a shame that I'd have to miss it. Being out of time and all. Then I told him that they want me to present. That changed his mind in a big ol' hurry. It's a cachet to have a presenter on staff." Abby, goofy Goth that she was, was still one of the most well known and best respected forensic scientists around. It wasn't that unusual for her to be asked to present her most recent paper or procedure.

Jimmy had a question. "You're buying motorcycles from a junkyard, I get that but what about safety checks and registration?"

Abby happily explained, "Well, yeah, they're what we used to call junkyard hogs. They call 'em custom jobs now." She smirked. "Nothing wrong with the bike at all. They'll pass the standard safety checks and be licensed and all that." She thought for a second. "Oh! And insured. You all better get on that."

Tim nodded. "Okay. As soon as I have registrations, I can do the insurance. It shouldn't take very long. Couple of days."

Abby nodded. "I'd help but I've actually got to leave in ..." she checked her phone. "Three days. I'll be gone four. They won't have the information before I leave and you're all leaving before I get back." She poked Tim in the ribs. "Evil men."

Tim obediently snickered and flinched. "Evil woman. Stop that. I'll deal. All I need is the numbers."

Tony laughed. "Song title. Two for you."

Abby snorted then looked at her watch. "Damn. Unlike you slackers, I have to be in early. Tests are running as we speak. I need to be in to get the results. I've got to go."

Dean jumped up and said, "I'll walk you out. It is my turn."

Gibbs nodded his approval. All the SEALs liked Abby, and took turns walking her out to the parking lot at NCIS and to her car anywhere else. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself but no one could see any reason she should have to. So with a wave and a grin, she was on her way home.

.

The next day was the beginning of catch-up week. This was the week Vance had demanded they use to catch up all their paperwork and filing chores. Then they were off for two weeks.

Tony plopped the last file on Gibbs' desk. Gibbs gave him a rather heated look, but Tony grinned at him and reminded him, "Jet, you know you have to sign off on everything. I'm not doing anyone else's paperwork anymore. Bad enough when Probie was a tadpole an' I had to keep him under watch. Ziva was even worse; she might have spoken fairly good English, but her written was ... well, it sucked. Heard anything about her yet?"

Gibbs looked over the pile, remarking absently, "No, but I don't expect to. She's more messed up than we thought. Got an email from her shrink, they don't expect her to be out of in-patient therapy for quite a while. She liked the general email I sent her, but it set her nightmares off again. Kinda miss her... but not trying to understand her reports." He sighed then handed Tony a couple of folders. "Take a look. We're going to need a general duty TDA. See what you think."

Tony took the folders and wandered in the general direction of his desk. He dropped the folders on one corner then turned to his monitor. He was going to slack off on the choice for a bit. He was much more interested in where to spend their two weeks leave. A road trip wasn't that much fun without a destination, or two, or three. He decided to send out a team email asking for destinations.

It didn't take him long to receive answers to his question. Dean and Cosmo both said a state park for some camping, preferably with fishing. Remy wanted to go to Louisiana to check on his Gran. Jet wanted to visit his father for a few days, which, he reminded, could involve fishing. Jimmy and Tim both wanted twisty roads and camping.

So he grumbled a bit at the fact that Pennsylvania was the opposite direction from Louisiana. But they did have two weeks and the ride would be fantastic most of the way. They could take secondary roads instead of interstate for much of the way. This made the ride longer by several hundred miles but also made it safer, helping them to avoid riding alongside 18-wheelers and inattentive commuters.

He started to search for suitable camping spots then realized that he had one of the best computer search experts in the country sitting four feet from him. "Digimon! Hey! Front an' center."

Tim looked up from his report. "What?"

"Oh, Digimon, don't be like that. Grumpy much? Need a search done." Tony gave Tim his most charming smile.

"Put that away. Sorry about snapping but you know how much I hate filling out some of these forms. The layout doesn't make sense. Why some of them require backtracking several pages to fill out makes no sense at all. I swear, I'm gonna redesign them and insert them into the system. So ... anyway, what do you need?" Tim's apologetic expression soothed Tony's hurt quickly. He also hated filling out most of the forms. They'd been designed by bean counters and forced on the programmers.

"Okay; first: do not tell me stuff like that, just do it," he smirked, "the day before we leave. And, two: need an itinerary." At Tim's puzzled frown, he explained better, ending, "So, why, I ask, should I do it half-assed when you can do it better, quicker, and neater?"

"No reason I can see. Send me a copy of the compilation I know you made of who wants to do what. I'll work in everything I can."

Tony sent the requested document and settled back to finish his paperwork.

Tim eyed the various requests and smiled, this wasn't going to be much of a problem. The trip from Pennsylvania to Louisiana was going to be the biggest problem, so he put that in a separate document then printed everything out. He'd put it up for discussion on the private forum he'd created for just this purpose. He sent an email to everyone and settled down to do some rewriting. He couldn't help a slightly evil smirk, wondering what a few people would have to say about the changes. He was going to eliminate at least four forms altogether. They were redundant, to say the least; the people who wanted them would be getting auto-sends of a different form that contained all the needed information. The redundant forms were going to completely disappear from the mainframe. Vance could kiss his lily white.

Tony couldn't imagine what had caused that smirk; it was particularly self-satisfied, but he didn't care, he was in the middle of form hell. He grumbled, "I don't know why the hell I can't copy/paste half this stuff."

Tim replied absently, "Because that'd be way too easy. We need to waste our time redoing things six times, just in case we have something else to do." He clattered his keyboard, changing, deleting, rearranging. He hoped to slip the whole mess by in one fell swoop. By the time anyone really noticed, he was hoping to be long gone, his tracks covered by expertise and time.

It didn't take long for the forum to light up. Everyone had an opinion and wasn't afraid to voice it. The general consensus, compiled before they left for the day was that they should head for Stillwater, taking back roads and loafing, eating along the way.

Gibbs glanced at his watch then announced, "1700, head out. Vance has refused to sign off on another second of overtime until we clear the board. My place, 1900." He looked at Tim, then Tony; neither man objected so he finished, "I'll call Gremlin. Wolf is going to be on call until late and doesn't have any interest anyway. Abby too." And with that, he picked up his go bag and headed for the elevator; Tim and Tony scrambled to catch up.

.

They gathered at Gibbs' place and settled around the living room with beer and pizza, wings and dip.

Tony munched on his pizza for a while, letting everyone come down from the day before saying, "Okay, everyone read the thing?" Nods and other signs of agreement led him to continue, "Good. So Stillwater first; there's a great park about twenty miles from Jackson's place that we can camp at. I'm sure he'll want us to spend at least one night there. We'll do that and be respectful of his age." He looked his men over. "Right?"

Remy spoke for all of them. "We'll do more than that. I bet there's a ton of stuff needs doing around his house. We'll give it a good clean and fix what needs fixin'." One firm nod made his feelings clear. " 'At why I need get back ta home. Gran's gettin' old. I need ta check on 'er." Everyone knew this was important, emotion brought out Remy's Cajun accent.

Tony nodded. "Okay, but we're going to take our time getting there. It's dangerous to run interstates, even in a pack. Secondaries are the way to go. Blacktop has its own dangers, but they're easier to cope with. Any comments, emendations, bitching?" He glanced around, got shrugs and head shakes in return. "Okay, Digimon, print out several copies. Okay?"

Tim nodded. He turned to the newly set-up laser printer and poked a button. "Man, I'm glad you finally dragged Jet into the 21st century."

Gibbs grinned crookedly. "Kicking and screaming, I'll admit."

Gibbs had finally admitted that his well-known contempt of all things computer-chipped came from the simple fact that he'd been out of touch with developments for much of his deployments and had never bothered to catch up. This laziness was now coming back to bite him firmly on the ass. He was disgusted with himself for letting it go long enough to become a liability and was doing his best to catch back up. Tim was helping as best he could.

Since Tim's best was very good, Gibbs was catching up quickly. It didn't hurt that he was a quick study and not afraid to work hard. He actually had homework and study sheets with deadlines. Tim had enrolled him in an on-line class, not that he'd told Gibbs that. He was aiming at Gibbs having an Associate's Degree in something computer-related six months out. It was looking good.

While he was thinking, the printer was doing its thing. Tim pulled the collated copies out of the tray and handed them out.

"Here. Each one of us is getting a complete itinerary. Go over it. If there're any complaints, comments, additions ... whatever, write them down and hand them in. I do not expect bitching at the last minute." He shrugged. "But last minute changes can be voted on."

Gibbs laughed. "Glad this is a vacation, instead of an op. We'd be headed for Graceland for sure."

Dean shook his head. "Oh, no. Already been. Not going again. Way too touristy."

Cosmo agreed. "Went ... three years ago? Something like that. All they want to do is sell you shit. Food's good though."

Tim blinked. "You ..." he pointed at Tony. "Half those frat bro trips were with them," he waved a hand at the SEALs.

Tony nodded, then said, "And the other half were missions. Most of the hangovers you accused me of having were combat crash."

"Sorry. Really." Tim looked shamefaced.

Dean waved a hand. "Don't sweat it. You weren't supposed to figure it out."

Remy had been going over the pages while this was going on. "Okay. We get to New Orleans, why?" He pronounced the city's name N'awlens.

"Um ... to visit your Gran?" Tim wondered what the problem was.

Remy grinned at Tim. "She don' live there. She live on Bayou Saint Denis. That way south. But we do go through the Big Easy. Spend a night there, maybe?"

"Okay." Tim poked at his keyboard, eyed the monitor, then sighed. "Man, she lives in the middle of nowhere." He flushed as everyone else laughed heartily.

Remy wasn't offended. "She do. But it's nice. We don't have to find camping, she'll let us set up in the yard. There's outdoor showers we can set up. She keep 'em for family reunions. Everyone camps then. She's got a huge farm kitchen and a summer kitchen, so she gets the reunion."

Tony looked blank. "What's a summer kitchen?"

Gibbs answered that. "Usually a separate room, like a detached garage. Only it's a kitchen. Keeps the heat out of the house."

"Gran's is more a screened-in porch. An' you better not track in dirt. Shoes on the porch, not in the house." As this was a common practice in their group, no one thought anything of that.

Dean licked his lips then said, "Bet lots of good food comes out of there."

Remy nodded. "True fact. Just ... choppin' all that wood's a pain."

Gibbs shrugged. "Like choppin' wood."

Cosmo eyed him. "Job's all yours then. And good luck with that."

There was general laughter and a bit of teasing before they broke up.

Jimmy headed out a bit early. Ducky claimed that he was just a light sleeper but Jimmy noticed that he always stayed up until he got home. He decided to get Abby to stay with Ducky while he was away. The older gentleman would never say anything but Jimmy got the feeling that he didn't like staying alone anymore.

Tim and Tony got home to find a cluster of younger men in front of the building. Tim had actually rented a parking space in a three-story garage near NCIS; he didn't trust the safety of the apartment lot anymore. They didn't hurry by the men; in fact, Tony gave them a stinkeye as they entered their building.

Tim frowned. "Not sure that was a good idea."

Tony snarled, "Don't care. No one buffaloes me. Ever."

Tim, well aware of why Tony had that attitude, just shrugged and unlocked the door. Tony kept an eye on their six until they were inside the apartment.

.

The next morning at Hotel Gibbs was a bit of a rush for everyone. Dean couldn't find the jeans he wanted to wear; Cosmo couldn't find his boots. Remy was making breakfast and dropped an egg on the floor. Gibbs watched the running around with a faint, amused smile. He had coffee and was satisfied.

At Tony's place it wasn't much better. They managed to get ready in good time, but found the SUV had a flat, due to the huge gash in the sidewall. Tony just glanced around the area, checking for a spy. He didn't see anyone. He called Quantico to come pick up the SUV and bring them another.

They heard snickering from the bushes, to which Tony replied, "That's right, yuck it up, asshole. But remember one thing ... I'm a SEAL. And you're ... not."

When the new SUV arrived, it was followed by a tow truck. The driver hopped out, saluted and stepped out of Tony's way. Tony returned the salute and got in. He rolled down the window to tell the PO3, "Since you brought a truck, just take it back to the motor pool. I'll do a little investigating and, if I find out who did this, I'll need an invoice to present."

The PO3 saluted again, snapping, "Yes, sir! 48 hrs, sir!"

Tony nodded, said, "As you were," and drove off.

Tim sighed.

Tony side-eyed him with some amusement. "Sound like you sprung a leak."

"Just ... I figured we'd be okay. But ... well, we can't fight a whole gang."

"No. We can't. But most gang bangers are like dogs. One won't do much of anything. Three or more and they get their nerve up. We separate out the alphas and we're home free." Tony's expression gave Tim the shivers.

"AJ, they're not Al Qaida or something. They're a bunch of wannabe BAMFs with more balls than sense. You can't ... do whatever you have in mind."

Tony sneered. "I'm not about to bring down the wrath of God on them. But I can make myself a real pain in the ass to the police until they do something, or the landlord does." He dialed, spoke to dispatch, telling the dispatcher that someone was on-site to deal with the paperwork. Then he called the landlord and threatened to sue if something wasn't done and soon. He remained polite and calm, but both the dispatcher and the landlord were well aware that he wasn't happy and expected results.

Tim wondered why he couldn't get results like that. He was a good investigator, great with anything with a chip, but interrogation was a real weak spot.

Tony, with nearly psychic insight, said, "You just need more experience. It's a Catch-22; you need experience but we can't take a chance on the perp getting away, so we do the interrogation. So you aren't getting experience. I'm gonna have ta think about that. Find some way for you to get some experience."

Tim thought about it then asked, "Why can't I do some with another team? Maybe Connor's team, they investigate theft and vandalism mostly. If I screw up one, there's still a good chance that one of the others will roll."

Tony agreed with that. "Yeah, that'd work. I'll see if Connor will go along with it. And the fact that you're with an MCRT will work in your favor."

"How? And how would they even find out?" Tim frowned out the window, so as not to frown at Tony.

"Well, during the set-up, one of Connor's team will just casually mention to the other that, for some as-yet-unascertained reason, an MCRT is getting involved. Put a bit more stress on the suspect and set them up for you. Then make them sit around for an hour or so, sweating it out, then in you stroll and ... well, you did a great job on that little shit ... Gecko?"

Tim laughed in remembrance. "Oh, him. Geckler. Called himself Geck. Yeah, I remember. So, after they've had time to sweat, I just wander in, tell them who I am and what team I'm on and go from there?"

"Exactly." Tony nodded to the gate guard and put his SUV in park to wait for the security check to be done.

It didn't take long for the guards to ask their questions, check under the vehicle with their mirrors, and tell them to proceed.

They were followed in by another SUV occupied by Dean, Cosmo, and Remy. They had taken to hanging around the NCIS squad room―the Gibbs team bullpen in particular―when not doing something more, as Tony put it, SEAL-like.

"I'm going to pull over and wait for them." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "No telling what kind of chaos those lugnuts will cause."

Tim laughed. "They're just energetic." He gave Tony a sideways look. "That's what Penny would say."

Tony snorted. "Insane. That's what they are." He watched fondly as his team 'helped' the inspectors, happily polishing their mirror, patting the sailor on the shoulder and offering to take out the seats, the carpeting, which the vehicle didn't have, and in general creating chaos and confusion for twenty feet in every direction.

When they reentered the vehicle and started the engine, Tony started his and they headed for the parking garage.

Gibbs was just parking his car, having gotten there just ahead of Tony. They joined him to walk through security at the door.

It seemed that Vance had instigated a new security protocol. Everyone had to check every weapon each time they came in the door.

Tony shrugged and started unloading himself, muttering as he did so. "Vance? Idiot, what's the use of a holdout if everyone knows where it is?" He examined the mess on the table for a moment then sighed. "I'm forgetting something."

The guard eyed the pile on the table as well, muttered "'Freaking the Mundanes,' anyone?" and started taking inventory. "NCIS-issue Sig 9. Small frame .308 Taurus. Folding knife, barely legal. Standard issue Marine K-Bar. Six Jack Ripper throwers." He picked up a piece of cord. "What's this?"

Tony eyed it for a moment then shrugged. "Primacord. Forgot it was in my pocket." He picked it out of the man's hand. "I think it went through the wash. Wonder if it still works?"

Gibbs grabbed him before he could do anything. "No; just no. Not a chance." He held out a hand. "Gimme."

Tony passed the length of innocent looking cord over, giving Gibbs an offended look. "Boss, not inside. I'm not stupid."

"And not outside in the parking lot either." Gibbs eyed Tony for a second. "AJ, you know you would."

Tony acquiesced at that. "Yeah, probably," he shrugged and motioned the guard to return to his inventory.

The man was much more cautious now. "Um ... blob of silly putty? And another cord, sorta looks like co-ax."

Gibbs covered his eyes with one hand. "AJ. Fuck. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?"

"Um ... I think I wore these pants on my last mission. I don't think I cleaned out my thigh pockets properly."

The guard gave up and called his superior. Tim was laughing his ass off on the sidelines while Tony's team were actually either leaning on the wall or rolling on the floor.

Gibbs rolled his eyes and smacked Tony in the back of the head. "Lugnut."

Tony issued the obligatory, 'ow,' then leaned on the table, waiting for the supervisor to arrive from his office.

When the supervisor arrived he took one look at the Primacord, det cord, and C-4. "Damn it, DiNozzo, empty your fucking pockets. This is all contraband. I'll have bomb come pick it up. You can get it back from them end of shift." He gave Tony a disgusted look then added, "You're gonna blow your ass off some day." He then ambled off, grumbling, "Coffee, need coffee."

Another round of laughter greeted this as Tony tucked his remaining weapons away.

The guard eyed the group then snarled, "Next. And there'd better not be any more explosives."

Cosmo shook his head. "No, man, I'm mostly munitions. Don't do bombs an' shit."

He unloaded his pockets, producing nothing more dangerous than a folding knife and standard Navy-issue sidearm.

Dean and Remy did the same with much the same results, except that Remy had a garrote in his pocket. The guard gave them all a fish-eye, but sent them through.

Gibbs unloaded a mass of arms much like Tony, while Tim confessed to nothing more than a folder and his NCIS-issue Sig.

Several waiting agents eyed the array of weapons with respectful eyes. They all seemed to sigh in relief when the last man passed through the scanner.

The two groups joined in the elevator, crowding it to capacity. Dean grumbled, "Cos, get your elbow out of my ribs."

Cosmo edged away a bit but this brought him in contact with Tim. Tim shoved him, grumbling, "Personal space, man."

Gibbs, stuck in the back, snarled, "You lugnuts lay off each other."

Tony, jostled in the exchange, barked, "Ten-HUT!" Even Tim snapped to.

Gibbs didn't, but he froze in place, allowing himself a bit of space. When the elevator doors opened, the whole squad room was treated to the sight of four SEALs and one NCIS agent standing at attention, spaced properly.

Tony ordered, "For'ard march!" and they all followed him off the elevator, even Tim and Gibbs. although Gibbs wasn't in step, playing eyes behind. Tony stepped to one side, then barked, "Column right!" as they cleared the elevator doors, then "Column left!" as the head of the line came even with the team's bullpen. He paced alongside the column, fighting to keep a straight face. A final "Detail, halt; fall out to desks!" had them scattering to go to their own workstations, trying to smother snickers.

Tony eyed the pile of paperwork on his desk and mumbled, "I'm gonna find that little shit, Peters, and frag him, I swear."

Gibbs looked up from his own pile to remark, "It's not his fault; don't kill the messenger." He started sorting forms, mumbling, "Not that it's not tempting. Whatever happened to a paperless world?"

Tim shook his head then snarked, "Luddite dinosaurs like you shot it in the neck." Gibbs maturely gave him the finger. "Nice."

Dean, sitting at the TAD desk, told them all. "So ... hurry up and get it all done. Vance might actually have mercy on us all and let you leave for ... leave when you're done." He frowned for a moment then shrugged, deciding he didn't need to elaborate.

Remy agreed with that, adding, "Oui, an' maybe we should go by the yard to see what they've come up with for motors."

Tony chimed in with, "Right. If we don't like them, now's the time to say something. I'll call Abby for the number, I don't have it in this phone." He quickly dialed the internal number, happy that it was only four digits, instead of the 19 needed from outside.

Abby happily informed Tony that she'd heard from the yard last night, she was supposed to pass on the message that they wanted the trike asap so the paint was all from the same batch.

"Well, why didn't they call me?" Tony eyed his message queue to make sure he hadn't missed the call.

"Idiot lost the number. I swear, they just write things down on scraps of whatever and toss them on a desk. Most disorganized bunch in the world. Make great hogs from next to junk but ... still."

Tony heard a distinctive ding and winced slightly as Abby hung up in his ear. "Ooooo-kaaaay?" He called Jimmy to ask if he had the trike yet.

Jimmy agreed that he could bring the trike to the yard after work. "It's already at our place, Ducky's and mine." Ducky had gotten a bit 'testy' with Jimmy about always calling their home 'Ducky's place', he insisted that it was both their places and told Gibbs on the QT that Jimmy's name was now on the deed.

Tony called the junkyard and spoke to one of the men. He said that they had all the hogs almost done, they were just waiting for the trike and Tony's motor so they could match the paint. Tony had told them that he'd decided not to repaint his motor, as the paint job on it now was only a year old. Since it was True Marine Blue with gold metallic, it was a given that they weren't repainting that.

.

They were done with the last of their paperwork by 1500. Vance, well aware that he wasn't getting another lick of work out of anyone on the team, sent them all home. Ducky let Jimmy go as well, only cautioning him not to get used to leaving early.

Jimmy just smiled at Ducky and nodded. "Okay, sir, I won't."

Ducky smiled back with obvious fondness. "And don't worry about me," he winked slyly. "Do remember that Abigail is meeting me in the morning and we're going to Las Vegas together. I'm truly looking forward to her presentation. Now. Go along with you."

Jimmy just hurried to get out of his scrubs and into street clothing. It didn't take him long to get home, change again, and start the trike. It ran like ten miles of bad road, shivering and shuddering. He wondered if they could give it a good tune-up while they were at it. He decided it couldn't hurt to ask.

He rumbled down the highway, carefully watching traffic. He was a bit startled to be joined by a huge motor until he realized that it was Tony. He glanced over to admire the color and realized that Tony was riding a three-year-old Harley cruiser. He raised a fist to let Tony know he'd seen him and rode on.

They reached the yard quickly, and Jimmy hopped off the trike to push the buzzer.

"Yeah?"

"Um ... Palmer and DiNozzo. We're here to leave our motors."

"Okay ..." The gate buzzed. "Come in."

Tony drove in first, followed closely by Jimmy. They parked in front of the shack pretending to be an office and walked in. There was a woman sitting behind a desk situated behind the counter. She looked up, sighed, and asked, "Okay, who let you in and why didn't my intercom beep?" she realized the second part of her question wasn't in their power to answer and said, "Never mind that, who are you? What do you need?"

Tony told her, "Might want to tell someone in the shop that they've crossed a wire somewhere. I wouldn't want a nastier surprise than us wandering in. Oh, and expect a few more people soon. We're actually waiting on the rest of our crew before we look at anything."

The woman, whose name appeared to be Wynona, or so the name plate on the desk said, just nodded, "Ok, have a seat. Not that I'd actually recommend sitting on that thing." She nodded to a shabby, oily couch.

Tony eyed it for a moment then said, "Oh, no thanks, I'll stand."

Jimmy eyed it too and agreed, "I'm good. Won't be long, I think."

Tony turned back to Wynona. "While we're waiting ... who do I talk to about matching paint?"

"Me. I'm the color match expert. The guys are all great at what they do, but none of 'em have an eye for paint color." She dragged out a huge book and dropped it on the counter with a bang.

Tony motioned to the door. "Motor's outside. We need to match it, as I'm not repainting mine. Paint job cost a pretty penny."

Wynona looked out the window then nodded. "Ok, I can see that. Let's take a look."

They all went out to see Tony's motor. Wynona was impressed. "Very nice. Harley Fat Boy." Tony grinned. "That paint sure isn't factory."

Tony shrugged. "Laid it down. Decided to add a bit to the insurance payout and get something a bit special." He opened a saddlebag and took some papers from the custom top pocket. "Here's the bill. Ought to be able to get a number off it."

Wynona examined the paper, nodded and headed back for the office. "Get this back to you in a sec, hun. That paint is factory with ..." she squinted at it for a moment. "Addition of gold metallic fleck, fine. No problem with any of this. And names on the tank in gold line work?" she disappeared inside.

Jimmy leaned against his trike. "I think I'll stay out here. She wears Tabu, and it's going to make me sneeze in a minute." He rubbed his nose then sneezed several times. "Not that attractive a smell, combined with stale sweat, burnt oil, and beer."

Tony snickered. "Right. We can hang here just as easy as not." He settled against his own motor, crossing his arms over his chest and one ankle over the other.

Jimmy chuckled softly. "Very James Dean."

Tony glowered halfheartedly but allowed, "Movie. Another two."

Jimmy grinned at him.

.

Gibbs decided to ride with the SEALs to save on vehicles on site. He wasn't sure he really wanted either of his vehicles at a junkyard. He called Tim to make sure that they were still picking him up. They were.

After getting Tim, it was about twenty minutes to the junkyard. They discussed exactly what they wanted in a motor on the way.

Everyone was agreed that they wanted cruisers, instead of some sort of low rider with an extended fork and ape hangers. One, they were dangerous to ride and two, they looked silly. A pea tank was also out of the question. Everyone agreed on twin 'fat' tanks. And wide saddle bags. Gibbs allowed that he also wanted a helmet trunk as he didn't want a helmet valued at upwards of two hundred dollars hanging off the handlebars.

Remy announced, "An' the helmets all have to have Bluetooth or something. I'm not gonna be out a' touch with you all."

Tim thought for a moment, "I can set up something like our earwigs. We can mount the master on the trike. And I want a modular helmet. You know, one of those that the chin piece and face shield both slide up. Easier to take off and less chances of messing up the mike. Built in speakers and mic would be nice." He noticed that everyone except Dean, who was driving, was looking at him. "What? I did some research. I've even picked a nice model that can be painted."

Cosmo thought then asked, "The Torc T27?"

"Yeah, looks nice, not that expensive, and comes with three different visors. Yellow, smoke, and clear."

Gibbs shrugged. "If you did the research, it sounds okay to me. I take a medium."

Everyone else gave their sizes and Tim entered the information on his iPad for later. "Still have to see about Jimmy and AJ. I know he already has a helmet but I need to make sure it's compatible with the system I'm looking at."

They were now at the gate, which Tim hacked without even thinking about it. The gate slid open and Dean drove through. He parked at the office building next to the trike.

Everyone got out of the SUV squabbling genially about something or other. Remy walked over to take a look at the trike. Dean and Cosmo soon followed. They were inspecting the box over the rear wheels when the owner, Dusty, came around the end of the office building and said, "Hey. Ready to see what we got?"

Gibbs answered for all of them. "Sure are. You want the trike and AJ's bike brought around?"

"Yeah. Need to get a good look at both. Ya want names on the tanks? That include ... um, AJ's?" He glanced over his shoulder.

Gibbs nodded. "Yeah. We all want names, just ..." he shrugged. "Because, I guess."

Dusty laughed. "I know it seems strange, but it really helps when you have similar paint jobs. And all the motors we built for you look very similar. Same frames, fenders, and whatnot. You know what kind of tanks you want?"

Gibbs went over the things they'd decided on with Dusty while they waited for Tony and Jimmy to come around. Dusty rolled back the shop doors to let them ride right in.

"Park over there." Dusty motioned to Tony then pointed to a different bay. "You over there. We're gonna take that thing apart to paint it. While we do we'll make sure it's solid. Big problem with homemade trikes is ... they have a tendency to break in the middle. Not on my watch, though."

Wynona came in the walk-in door with a can in one hand and some papers in the other. She handed one sheet to Tony, saying, "Here's your documentation back, put it up now before you forget and shove it into a pocket." She watched as Tony did exactly that, well aware that she was right. Wynona turned to Dusty. "And here's the mix." She grinned. "That's the test can. I'll mix the main batch once it's approved. And the gold for the detailing is on the shaker." She turned and left after one last look around.

Dusty took the can, poured the paint into the cup of an air brush and sprayed some on a piece of sheet metal. "Looks good. Gather around. The color won't change much when it dries."

Everyone gathered around to look at the paint. It matched Tony's motor perfectly.

"Ok, we've got the paint. We've got the specs. Now, all I need to do is measure your inseam." Dusty waited expectantly.

Dean obliged. "Okay, why measure inseams?"

"So I can set the suspension. I want each of you to be able to put your foot flat on the ground. None of this tippy-toe shit. Dangerous. If you slip, you've lost it and your motor is down. This way, you can get your whole foot on the ground with less chance of slipping." He produced a tape measure from a nearby tool box and went about the business quickly.

They cracked the usual jokes men do in a situation like that. Dusty just snarked right back. He finished, tossed the tape back into the tool box and said, "Okay, you guys, we've got what we need. You can come back on Saturday afternoon, late, to check the paint; we'll have the motors together by Monday."

Jimmy, who had escaped the indignity of being measured due to the fact that his motor was a trike, asked, "What about the difference between wood and sheet metal ... um ... when it comes to paint."

Dusty eyed the trike for a moment, then admitted. "Didn't think of that. You have any objections to us replacing that box with something a bit sturdier?"

Jimmy, who had planned carefully for exactly that, said, "No. I was thinking of a fiberglass box. I saw a nice one online. Depends on how quickly you can get it and how much it costs."

Dusty just grinned. "I got stuck with a box couple a' months ago. It'll do the job an' I'll let you have it for cost, just to get it out of storage. Come take a look."

The trunk turned out to be a modular thing that looked somewhat like the rear end of a DeSoto, only about a third the size. Jimmy approved it at once. Especially when Dusty told him he could have it for $1100 instead of the book of $1800.

Then they all trekked back to the office to pick saddlebags and trunks.

This led to the last round of choices. Tim sat down with Wynona to get the com system set up.

"AJ, I need a quick look at your helmet." Tim frowned absently at a catalogue that Wynona had handed him.

"Why?" Tony was already headed for the door to retrieve his helmet from the trunk on his motor.

"Need to make sure it's compatible with the base I've got picked out. Bluetooth-capable and all that."

Tony turned around and ambled over to perch on the edge of Wynona's desk. "It's Bluetooth-compatible, password-protected, and scramble-capable."

Tim flipped pages, replying absently, "Oh, okay. Good." He put the catalogue down. "Wynona, we'll take this one, mounted on the trike, and we need five Torc T27's in these sizes." he poked at his iPad for a second, checked to see that the file had transferred, then continued, "With these names painted on them. Dusty already has them for the motors."

Wynona checked her monitor to make sure she had everything. "Okay ... weird names you guys picked. Digimon? Viper? What the hell?"

Tony shrugged. "Do tend to get odd names in our line of work. I'm Honey Badger. Just put Badger on the lid."

Wynona shrugged, "Okay, your lid, your name. We'll have everything done by Monday, like Dusty said. I'd say come by Sunday early. Saturday late, maybe. Since this is such a big job, we'll work the overtime to get it done. Now ... business. How you wanna pay for this?"

"Each man is paying for his own motor. Mostly PIF. I think Jimmy might have to make payments."

One thing most people don't really understand about motorcycles is, new ones cost up to thirty-two thousand dollars, or more; junkyard hogs are less than a quarter of that. Most of the expense is in labor, as the parts are actually junk. The engine can be costly as they're still good, but the rest is reclaimed scrap. In the case of these motors, the saddle bags, trunks, and electronics were what added to the cost.

Gibbs smiled at Wynona. "Just print out invoices by name and hand 'em out."

Wynona glanced around the group and did what Gibbs suggested. She explained, "Due to one thing and another, we're looking at about five thou per. That trike, due to the fact that all the hard work is done, three. So ..." she gathered the handful of printouts and handed them to Gibbs. "Here; you know who's who. Hand that mess out." She grinned. "Form a line and I'll deal with you one at a time. And no horseplay in the office."

Cosmo, who'd been about to give Dean a wet willy, slunk back to lean against the far end of the counter.

Dean eyed him for a moment. "Oh, you were not. You do and I'll whack you."

Remy grabbed Dean. "No whacking people. Get you thrown out."

Dean reacted to the headlock by tickling Remy, who would deny squealing like a pig.

Tony turned around just in time to see Cosmo goose Jimmy. Jimmy retaliated by grabbing Cosmo around the waist and picking him up.

Wynona just eyed them then turned to Gibbs. "You tell me why the hell I even bother. Every time I tell a bunch of guys no horseplay, they go nuts."

Gibbs shrugged. "You tell me; then we'll both know." He whistled shrilly. "Okay, you dipsticks, line the fuck up and behave yourselves."

Tony added, "Unless you want to meet me on the mats. Or Gibbs."

Dean looked properly horrified. "Oh, no. No, that's okay. I'll behave. Line ..." he pointed to his feet, "right here."

Cosmo just straightened his clothing and got behind Dean.

Remy added himself to the end, behind Jimmy, who'd jumped in behind Dean before Remy could.

Tim, since he was sitting at the desk, was first in line; Tony, sitting on the desk, was next. Gibbs calmly jumped the line, adding himself to the front. No one protested that.

It didn't take long to figure out that everyone, Jimmy included, was PIF. Wynona was so pleased she actually hugged Gibbs.

Gibbs flushed a bit, chuckled, then said, "Sorry, you're not my type."

Tony winked at her and added, "Nope, not a red head."

Wynona patted her hair. "No, but I could be." She winked back then said, "But I don't think Dusty would like it much. We've been married for ... 28 years." She smiled, a distant, wistful look in her eye.

Gibbs, thinking of three failed marriages, said, "Congratulations."

Wynona snapped back to the present. "Well, thanks, hun. Now. Just because I'm nosey. What are you gonna do with your motors?"

Tim answered that. "We're all on leave for two weeks. Use it or lose it. So we're going on a road trip. Some camping, bit of fishing. Visit relatives."

Wynona thought for a moment then asked, "Camping gear? How much."

Gibbs eyed the group. "Well ... considering the idiots we are. Probably not that much."

Tony shook his head. "No! Just no. Not only no, but hell no! I'm not roughing it. Tent, sleeping bag, ground cloth, blue pad. And cooking gear up the yin-yang. I do with nothing way too often to want to do that on vacation. Last op ... well, we got out with ... never mind."

Remy nodded. "No roughing it for us. We're a bunch of wimps. I don't mind camping out, but ... all the bells and whistles for me too."

Dean and Cosmo agreed, loudly.

Jimmy eyed Tim who just shrugged. "I'm not that fond of roughing it either. I like camping― Webelos leader, after all― but there's no need to sleep in a sand hole and eat cattail roots on a vacation."

Jimmy shrugged. "I've never taken a survival course, and not too sure I want to. I do like my creature comforts."

Gibbs looked on with some amusement as they argued about what was necessary and what was frivolous; he finally turned to Wynona. "Is there any way to safely tow a trailer?"

"Yeah, we've got a nice one that'll go great behind that trike. It'll hold about three cubic feet of stuff, weighing around 350 lbs. That's a good size tent, and a camp kitchen plus some odds and ends. The rest of your gear needs to fit in the trunk of the trike or your saddle bags."

Gibbs admitted, "We were planning to put the tent in the trunk of the trike but we forgot one small thing." He chuckled. "Jimmy and Tim are on that and they have sleeping bags and clothing to haul."

Wynona laughed. "Don't forget that you need food and laundry stuff. Bet you didn't think of that."

Tony smiled, replying, "I did. I got a bar of all purpose Naphtha soap. So does everyone else. Or they will before we leave. And I know how to work a washboard."

Gibbs shrugged. "I just find a convenient rock. Wuss."

Cosmo interjected, "I prefer a laundromat, fuck you very much. Christ on a cracker."

Wynona shook her head, shoved them all in the general direction of their wheels and said, "Go the hell home. Come back later."

Tony waved his cell at her. "Call me. We'll stay out of your hair until then."

She acknowledged, "That'll work. Scram."

So they all got into the SUV's and headed out.

.

TDA - temporary duty agent

TAD - temporary assigned duty.

(It's confusing, but I looked it up. A person is a TDA who is on TAD. Don't you love governmental acronyms?)

Have no idea if Primacord will really survive a run through a washing machine and have no intention of experimenting.

Yes, it takes up to 23 numbers to reach someone in a government agency, first you dial the phone number, then the division(+4) then the office (+4) then the desk (+4). Or you deal with one of those interminable phone tree traps.

PIF - paid in full


	2. Chapter 2

. Chapter Two .

Gibbs got up early―Marine training still stuck― and managed a shower before the rest of his housemates were organized. He barely made it out of the shower before Remy was knocking. "Hey! Come on, I gotta piss."

"Hold your water, LeBeau, gimme a sec." Gibbs finished rinsing quickly and grabbed a towel off the rack. "Damn impatient asshole."

Remy started his business, grumbling, "Well, shit, Viper, you won't let us go in the back yard, and Dean's in the other head."

Gibbs just started drying off. "No pissing in the back yard. Mrs. Landers got an eyeful last month. Called the homeowners' association. I do not need another call from that bunch of busybodies." He dragged on shorts and jeans, muttering about 'damn nosy, busybody control freaks'.

It wasn't long before the whole group was gathered in the kitchen, drinking coffee and waiting for Gibbs to finish breakfast. He'd taken over much of the cooking and left cleanup to the others. He'd gotten tired of the arguments about who could and couldn't cook and who could make what better. Not to mention the grumbling about guacamole in the chili and other things.

Remy's phone rang while he had a mouth full of eggs. He answered it anyway. "Ya." He listened while he chewed and swallowed. "Okay. We'll be ready." He hung up without saying good-bye. "That was AJ. He and Tim'll be here in about thirty. Need to finalize plans on who's bringing what and what we all need to bring for ourselves." He got up. "I'll make more coffee."

Tim and Tony showed up exactly twenty minutes later and just walked in. One of the first things Gibbs did every morning was unlock the front door. None of his roomies was comfortable with his habit of leaving the doors unlocked, so they were now locked at exactly 2100 every night and unlocked by the first person, Gibbs, up in the morning.

"Good morning. I come bearing ... bearclaws." Tony dropped the pastry box on the table with a small flourish. "And do not Bogart all the apple fritters. Pigs." He flopped down in a chair, was presented with a cup of coffee and swallowed half of it in one gulp.

Tim cringed. "AJ! Damn it, how to you keep from blistering your mouth?"

Tony shrugged. "Asbestos mouth. I've always been able to drink nearly boiling stuff." He finished his coffee in another gulp, then crammed half a fritter into his mouth.

Tim sighed and changed the subject. "Where's Jimmy? He should be here."

Gibbs frowned at his phone. "I think I got a text from him ... but I have no idea how to read it. Here," he shoved his phone into Tim's hand. "Show me. AJ tried but ... he doesn't make any sense. What the hell is a soft button? They're all hard plastic."

Tim glowered. "Damn it, I've explained this at least a dozen times. I swear, if you were one of my Webelos I'd make you write it out ten times."

Gibbs flushed. "I know. But ... well, I'm a stubborn asshole. So ... show me again. Slowly. And explain. If I forget again, I'll take my lumps like a Marine."

So Tim went through it all again, slowly, explaining soft buttons and functions for what felt like the thousandth time.

It only took a couple of minutes to retrieve the message; Jimmy's text said he'd be there shortly after 8 a.m., as soon as he saw Ducky and Abby off.

He showed up at exactly five minutes after, apologizing for being late.

He was given a cup of coffee, just as he liked it, and his favorite doughnut. "Okay. I've checked; I can borrow a tent from a cousin, but it's small. Three-man, but four will fit," he grinned, "If you're really friendly. It's old and bulky; heavy as lead too."

Tim shook his head. "Best leave it. I've got one that's better. Five-man, light-weight, low-bulk. It fits into a compression pack, turns out about eight-by-twelve. Not counting the poles, but they break down into a tube that's about the same length and three inches in diameter. And I've got four sleeping bags; they'll take up about nine cubic inches each. Titanium cook set that all fits into the biggest pot. About another cubic foot. So ... my gear, including personal stuff, takes up about two cubic feet. Jimmy?"

Jimmy shrugged. "I'll use one of your sleeping bags, if I can. The rest of my stuff fits into a duffel, about a cubic foot. So that leaves about ..." he paused as he did some mental math.

Tim consulted his iPad. "The trunk of the trike holds two cubic feet, the trailer three and a half. We put our personal stuff, that includes sleeping bags, ground cloth, blue pad and pillows, in the trunk. We've still got about enough space for the cook set. That leaves the trailer for the tent and ..." he fiddled a moment. "Two and a half cubic feet of space for other stuff. I'd suggest another tent, slop chest and food, first aid kit, that sort of thing."

Gibbs couldn't help a quick smile. "Jimmy and Ducky fixed up a kit. Swear it looks like a field medic kit."

Jimmy interjected. "It's not. It's a full tactical kit. I can do anything a field hospital can do, right out of that and it's only a cubic foot. There's not a whole lot of anything, but there's a lot of different stuff."

Tony snickered. "I'm bringing my tac-pack."

Remy, Dean and Cosmo announced that they were doing the same. Gibbs just smirked at Tim.

Tim handed over a folded $50 bill. "Okay, okay. I give. Here. Jerk."

Tony glanced at Gibbs, who explained, with every evidence of satisfaction, "Bet him we'd all wind up just bringing our field packs. He swore no one would think of it."

Cosmo snorted. "That's stupid, we're practically married to them. I've carried the same stuff for ... six years. Two different packs."

Dean nodded. "Me too. Shame about our first kits."

Jimmy blinked, "Oh? what happened to them?"

"Got blown up." Cosmo's calm answer made Jimmy blink.

"Oh ... too bad. But you said you had to abandon your equipment on the last op."

Tony nodded. "Did, but that's GI equipment, not our packs. We don't drop those unless it's absolutely the last resort."

Jimmy frowned for a moment then shrugged, "Okay. Whatever. Just make sure that the medical stuff doesn't get shoved to the back. I need it right up front so I don't have to rummage for it. Seconds can make a big difference."

Remy nodded. "Okay. There's a compartment on the back of the trunk lid, we'll put it there. Anything else anyone can think of?"

They passed lists and iPads around. No one found anything else they thought needed to be dragged along with them. Someone offered a can of fuel but that was moaned down as stinking up everything else in wherever they carried it. The suggestion of service pieces and extra magazines was approved, but Gibbs warned that anyone not having a carry permit better not carry, or get caught.

It turned out that everyone had either a federal permit through NCIS or permits issued by the Navy. Everyone was green on carry.

Tony sat Jimmy at the kitchen table and handed him a pile of boxes of ammo and a bag of magazines. "Here, load these, then put them all in the bag again. Keep the boxes for reloads."

Jimmy opened the first box of ammo, saying, "Okay. We putting them in the trailer?"

"Yeah. We've also all got a couple or three mags extra."

Gibbs interjected, "There's no such thing as too much ammo."

Remy nodded. "True fact."

Dean grabbed for the last jelly doughnut at the same time Tony did. Cosmo snatched it away before they could squash it.

Dean tried to get it back, exclaiming, "Hey! Hands off!"

Tony ducked the rather wild grab. "Watch it! Standing here!"

The resulting wresting match ended with all three men rolling on the floor in the squashed pastry.

Gibbs sighed. "Three years old, I swear." He whistled shrilly; all three men froze. "Okay, you dipsticks ... UP!" They scrambled to their feet. "All three of you: strip." All three men scrambled to obey, they could tell that Jet was ticked, not a good thing. "AJ, get a mop and bucket. Dean, start wiping up the jelly. Cosmo, take the clothing and get it in the wash."

Jimmy eyed the mess sadly. "It was grape too. Um ..." he eyed the naked men. "They gonna get dressed?"

Gibbs gave him a stern look. "Do you think they deserve clothing just yet?"

After a moment's thought Jimmy allowed, "Probably not. But ... um ..." he shrugged, "Never mind."

Gibbs, well aware of what Jimmy was thinking, told him, "If someone knocks, you answer."

Tony came back with a mop and bucket. "Ok, where's the cleaner?"

"Under the sink. Use the Lysol." Gibbs only used four cleaners: Lysol, bleach, ammonia and white vinegar, mixed in various proportions.

Tony set the bucket in the sink and started the water, adding the cleaner. He eyed the bucket while it filled. "Um ... Boss? Is it supposed to suds that much?"

Gibbs glanced up. "Yeah, I think that's enough water. Get busy."

Tim just got up and got out of the way. He was glad he hadn't made a grab for the jelly-filled, he'd've lost. He thought about that for a moment then asked, "Jet? In a match between me and AJ, who'd win?"

Gibbs didn't hesitate for a second. "You and AJ? AJ. Someone with AJ's same skill set? You."

Tim looked blank for a moment then asked, "Why? That doesn't make sense."

"Does. AJ knows you, knows your skill set and style. And he's got a bit of a PD on you. Anyone else, doesn't know you... your skill set and that baby-face of yours'll fool 'em."

Tim thought about that for a moment then sighed. "I know AJ has a PD on me. How do I break it?"

Remy looked from Tim to Tony then back. "Probably don't. Wouldn't worry about it. Doesn't matter in practice, and he'd never get serious with you. Fugedabodit."

Tony groaned at Remy's imitation of a New Jersey accent. "No, just no. Do not. You're no mobster at the best of times."

Remy snickered. "True, too true."

Gibbs emptied his cup. "Coffee?"

Jimmy made a long arm to reach the pot. "Yeah, just one more cup. Who else wants more coffee?"

Dean and Cosmo both did, so Jimmy got up to make another pot. "I don't see how the hell you can go through half a dozen commercial pots in ... what? ... half an hour?"

Tony replied while he mopped up the mess of jelly and pastry still on the floor. "Gremlin, think about it. We've got a doctor, four SEALs, a Marine, and an NCIS agent. That's seven caffeine addicts in one place."

Jimmy chuckled. "Point." He started making coffee. "I'll just make up this and fill both pressure pots. Okay?" Taking the grunt from Gibbs as assent, he started the first pot. The pot wasn't actually a pot as such; it was a restaurant-quality multi-pot set up that was capable of making a pot in three minutes; the three heating elements could keep that many pots hot. They didn't use the elements that much, though, as Gibbs said leaving coffee on the heat scorched it. They used two two-quart pressure pots instead.

More coffee seemed to be a good thing as everyone settled at the kitchen table again. Tony was still mopping, Dean came back from emptying the trash, which he'd filled up with paper towels. Cosmo was in the laundry, sorting clothing.

Gibbs called, "When you're done, get some damn clothes on and come sit down."

All three men quickly finished their tasks, dressed and came back to the table. Gibbs eyed them with frank disfavor. "Now, what the hell? You three know better than to get into a fight of any kind in this house. You wanna pay for a new kitchen table and chairs?"

Tony flushed hotly. "Sorry. Got carried away. And no, I definitely do not want to pay for a new table." He thought for a moment. "What would you make it out of?"

Gibbs also thought for a moment then said, "Top-rank, fine-grain mahogany. And a leaf, or two, and twelve chairs."

Dean grimaced. He remembered how much the wood for the new coffee table had cost. But he admitted that the table was beautiful.

Cosmo thought for a moment then said. "We really do need a new table. But I was thinking more along the lines of a trestle table, a real one. And eight chairs. Oak. I'll chip in."

Gibbs eyed the rickety '50's style chrome thing he now had. They'd been saying they needed to get something better for months. "Okay. I'll start it when we get back."

Tony offered to chip in too, which led to everyone offering to help out. Gibbs acknowledged the offers with a smile and said, "I'll look into wood and give you all an amount after leave."

They settled down then, waiting for a call. While they waited they swapped stories, wishes, dreams.

They made lunch, cleaned up the kitchen and decided that they'd waited long enough. Tony announced, "We'll finish the last of the shopping. Jimmy, you take Tim in your truck and get the rest of the gear you're borrowing. And thank your ... uncle?"

"Uncle Don for the trike, already done. He actually just gave it to me. And Cousin Jay for the ground cover and mess kits. He's a good guy. Hunts a lot. I already thanked him too." Jimmy headed for the door with Tim right beside him. "It's way out in the counties so we'll be gone at least three hours. Call you if it's gonna be longer."

They left, and the others prepared to go to a military surplus store. Their inventory had revealed that they needed several ground cloths and one new blue pad. They also had some odds and ends on the list. They finally decided that Gibbs and Tony should go to the store while the others finished cleaning the house and doing laundry.

.

The spring-bell over the door gave a merry jingle as the two friends entered the store. They'd picked a different store from the last visit—spreading the wealth, Dean said. A voice from the back yelled, "Be out in a minute."

Gibbs called back, "Take your time. We know what we want." He headed for the camping gear area.

Tony tossed over the ground cloths; they were all used, but in good to excellent condition. "These should have been re-issued; they're still good."

Gibbs nodded but explained, "True, but when they pull an issue they sell the whole thing. Cheaper to let someone else do the sorting, and that way no one gets a bad issue. Their loss, our gain."

They decided to get a couple of extras; no telling when they might come in handy.

Tony eyed a mess of canvas and rope. "Might want to get one of these. Never can tell when it might come in useful."

Gibbs glanced up. "What is it?"

"Old-fashioned utility tarp. Fur Trade Era re-enactors call it a Diamond Shelter. It's a square of canvas and some rope and tent pegs. You can make half a dozen different shelters with it. I learned on one of those damn Civil War things Father used to drag me to. Only thing I ever learned worth knowing. Saved my ass a few times." He tossed the canvas back. "I'd rather have one in the package."

Gibbs looked at the pile. "Why can't we use a standard ground cloth?"

Tony replied absently as he sorted through the packages. "Not enough tie-offs on the edges and most aren't really big enough for what I want. But you can do a lot with the standard size, only for one man."

Gibbs nodded his understanding. "Ought to buy a bag of marbles."

Tony blinked, "I'd forgotten all about that. But ..." he grinned. "Lots of pebbles on the ground over there."

Neither man needed more details about where Tony meant.

They were interrupted by the clerk. "Hey. Thanks for waiting. What can I help you with?"

Gibbs eyed the clerk then wondered why all of the people who worked in surplus seemed to fit into two categories: ex-military, or skinny wanna-be's. This one was a skinny, pimply kid of about 18 who so obviously didn't want to be here that it was painful.

"Nothing. If you have something you need to be doing, go take care of it. If we need you, we'll yell." Gibbs managed a smile for the kid.

"Okay. Thanks. I've got a physics test to study for but my ass *ahem* brother got drunk last night and couldn't make it in today. So ... I'm stuck." The kid looked justifiably pissed. "I'll be at the register. Excuse me." He scurried off to the front of the store.

Tony sighed. "Damn. Poor kid. Probably got dragged, kicking and screaming, out of a study daze to come in here and cope."

Gibbs adjusted his attitude. Tony was right, the kid obviously wasn't some snot-nosed wise-ass. He probably only worked the family business when there was no one else available.

They wandered the store, checking things out and adding a few things to the growing pile on the counter. One thing they both agreed on was a solar shower bag. Tony shrugged, saying, "Couldn't hurt. Not that there's enough sun on some days. But still..."

Gibbs eyed the thing for a moment then added another. "Not that they're huge or anything." He ambled on. One thing caught his eye. "Camper soap. A bar each?"

Tony glanced at the bar. "Better get two each. Is it cold water?"

"Any other kind of camper soap?" Gibbs picked out a mesh soap bag for each of them and stuffed two bars of soap into each one. "There. That takes care of that."

"We're taking our usual kit. Anything else we might need?" Gibbs looked around one last time.

"Tent pegs? No, got doubles on those. Underwear? Socks? Got plenty of those too. Nope. Can't think of a thing." Tony started for the front, reaching for his wallet. "I'll pay for this mess."

Gibbs objected. "I thought I was. I've got plenty."

"Not the question. I took up a collection. You owe me fifty."

Gibbs fished out his money clip and handed over two twenties and a ten. "Here. How'd I miss that?"

"You were on a coffee run." Tony smacked his forehead with one palm. "Damn. Coffee pot."

"Got a percolator in my camping gear. It's pretty big." Gibbs thought about that for a moment. "Um ... never mind. We need to look for a bigger one."

Tony about-faced and headed for the back of the store. "I saw one of those porcelain-coated monsters in here somewhere. I'll get it."

The kid spoke up. "It's not a perk; it's just a boiler," he said as he looked up from his book. "You know ... boil the water then toss in the grounds?"

Gibbs shrugged. "That's fine. We'll deal. We can always strain out the grounds."

"Okay. You ready to check out?" The kid put his book aside.

Tony put the boiler down. "Yeah. I think so. Jet?"

"Ready as we'll ever be." he eyed the book for a moment. Since it was face down he could read the name on the protective cover. "Joe."

Joe graced him with a beaming smile. "How'd you know?"

Gibbs silently pointed to the book. "Name's on the cover. How's the studying going?"

"Not so good. I do well in every class, then ... bam. I get hit with ballistics and I just don't get it." Joe frowned as Gibbs picked up the book.

Tony looked over his shoulder for a second then shrugged. "Just standard shit. Not that hard. What's the problem?"

Joe sighed. "I just don't get it. It looks okay until I try to work a problem ... then ... I just don't get the right answer."

Tony eyed the problem Joe was working. "Let me try." He took the book, read quickly, consulted the charts provided and said, "This is the answer."

Joe eyed the numbers Tony had written on the edge of his answer sheet. "That's what I keep getting, but the key says something different."

Gibbs did the problem himself. "Well, I get the same answer as both of you, so something's wrong with the key."

Joe sighed. "Well, that sucks. Prof is one of those by-the-book assholes that can't be convinced that the book can possibly be wrong."

Tony made a call, Gibbs did the same. Joe kept ringing them up.

It wasn't long before both phones rang. Gibbs answered with a short, "yeah," while Tony was a bit more polite, announcing his name, "DiNozzo."

Gibbs snorted. "See that you do. It's ridiculous that you can't publish a correct key, the cost of books today is outrageous."

Tony, meanwhile, listened then barked, "Well, fax him a corrected one. Or I'll make one myself." He listened again then edged behind Joe to look at the fax behind the check out. He read off the number then hung up. Turning to Joe, he said, "You should have a corrected key in a few. If you don't have one by the time we leave, I'll make you one."

Joe grinned, "Thanks, man. I'd really hate to fail ballistics, of all things. How'd you know that shit?"

Gibbs gestured to himself. "Marine Scout Sniper, RED." He gestured to Tony. "Active duty SEAL. Kinda goes with the territory."

"Oh, man. Thanks again. Here." Joe dropped several objects on the pile. "Free. Just some camp matches and safes. And a signal mirror." He finished his entries, punched the total button and told them the damage. "I'll have that bagged up in a sec."

The back door banged open, startling everyone. This resulted in two drawn small arms and a very startled big brother. "What the fuck?" He raised his hands. "Easy. Joe, give 'em whatever they want."

Joe sighed. "That's Frank. My idiot big brother. He's mostly harmless."

Gibbs and Tony fished out their NCIS ID and flashed it, one handed, while putting their arms away. Tony offered, "Not robbing the place. Come on in."

Frank put his hands down, sighing in relief. "That's good. Joe's a geek, but I'd still hate to see him hurt. He doesn't usually work the shop but ... well ... I'm still hung over, and Dad's at a show. We're hoping Geek-boy takes a step up in the world."

Joe made a face at his brother. "Geek-boy? Better than being a redneck, you jerk."

Frank swatted Joe on the back of the head. "Get this done, then head back home. Did you get that problem?"

Joe started bagging alongside Frank. "Yeah. The fuckin' key is wrong. Mr. Gibbs and Mr. DiNozzo helped a lot. I got a correct key on the way to the fax."

Frank echoed Gibbs, saying, "With the cost of that damn book, you'd think they'd make sure the key is right."

"Yeah, I mean, seriously. That one book was, like, two hundred bucks." Joe finished his bagging, handed the bag to Gibbs, and grinned. "There you go. Last one."

Tony eyed the fax. "And no key yet."

Frank sighed. "Well, that figures." He picked up several bags. "Here, let me help you with that mess." He headed for the door, Tony on his heels. "Where's the truck?"

Tony pointed with his chin. "There, black SUV, NCIS plates."

Frank looked at the SUV with envious eyes. "Man, I wish I could afford one of those. No way, not now."

Tony side-eyed Frank. "Why not?"

"Business is gone to hell. Dad's sick and sellin' off all the good stuff as fast as he can. Mom don't give a damn about it, all she wants is out from under. And what the hell am I supposed to do? I don't know anything but this, and Joe's in college. How're we supposed to pay tuition and shit?"

Tony thought as they put the bags into the SUV. "You sit down an' talk to your ol' man? He might just think you want out too."

"Tried. Mom busted into the middle of it and they got into a fight. Now he's all 'I just want peace'." Frank leaned against the side of the SUV, looking like he was about to cry.

Meanwhile, Joe was telling Tony more or less the same story. "And I don't know what to do. Dad's not telling anyone what's wrong with him. Frank is going crazy. Mom's being a bitch. And I'm no help at all. I want an education so bad. And, when I said I could take a semester off, Frank threatened to whip my ass. So ... But tuition is coming up in six weeks and I don't have it. I don't know what to do."

Tony shrugged. "Don't sweat it. Gibbs and I'll see what we can do. Maybe talk to your Dad."

"About what?" The older man who had just walked up was obviously Frank and Joe's father.

"About selling off their heritage." Tony eyed the man. He really didn't look well, his shoulders slumped, skin grey.

He offered Tony his hand, saying tiredly, "Name's Bill," he sighed and leaned against the SUV. "So. You wanna tell me why you're buttin' into family business?" He didn't seem hostile, just weary.

"Well, because you got one son grieving for his education and the other for his business; both for their family. Wanna fill me in?" Tony put on his officer face and waited.

Bill eyed Frank, who was obviously hung over and distraught. "Okay. Damn. Come back inside. Maybe we're too close to things." He just pushed off the SUV and headed back for the store.

Gibbs looked up when the bell jingled. "Okay?"

Tony eyed Joe then Frank. He turned to Bill and demanded, "Wanna explain to all of us why you're basically disinheriting them?"

Bill sighed, rubbing his face with both hands. "I've got a good chance of makin' it. Insurance will pay. But Maria doesn't want to deal with any of this. She gave me until the end of the month to ... get out from under."

Frank blinked, then exclaimed, "Dad! Man, how the hell are we supposed to keep up the insurance payments, utilities, pay Joe's tuition and just live without the store?"

Joe glowered then just demanded. "Okay. I don't give a fuck. Start at the beginning, explain exactly what's wrong with you, then why, exactly, Mom thinks she's got to deal with anything more than lunch."

Bill started to get indignant but a sharp throat-clear from Gibbs got him talking. It seemed that Bill had kidney failure brought on by chemical exposure. He needed dialysis for six months so that his kidneys could rest. If they were lucky, he'd recover completely; if not, he'd be on dialysis until he could find a match.

Maria, his wife, didn't want to deal with the store; she had no head for business. And she wasn't capable of paying bills, had never learned to deal with a credit card, and was, in general, financially helpless.

Frank sighed. "Dad. I'm twenty-four; I can run the store, get merchandise, and all that. Joe will help out. He can study right there at the register. We'll cut back on hours, stay open a half-day on Saturday. We'll make it work. Just make sure that Mom understands that I'm paying the bills; not you, not her. Joe can cut back on his class hours a bit. I mean, he's taking twenty-one this semester so, if he takes fifteen, that'll keep him at full-time. He'll still get a grant, but the tuition will be less, and books will cost less. And he'll be available for more hours here."

Gibbs nodded. "Sounds like a plan to me. Man, rely on your boys; they're both level-headed." He eyed Frank for a moment. "Sort of."

Frank rubbed the back of his head. "So I got trashed last night. Not like I make a habit of it. Just so worried about what's been going on that I sat and worried and lost track. Dad?"

Bill eyed his sons who eyed him right back with hopeful looks. "Okay, okay. I hated to let this go, so if you boys really want to help out ..." he grinned. "I got a deal on a dozen AK-47's and some accessories. Go out to the van and start bringing them in."

Tony and Gibbs wandered out to help, just to hang for a bit and maybe relieve a bit more of the tension between father and sons.

They didn't need much help as Joe and Frank grabbed an end of the crate each and walked it in through the wide back door. Tony picked up a box, then handed it off to Gibbs. He handed the next one to Bill, then got the last one and carried it in, kicking the door shut on his way.

"Okay, here you go." Tony turned to Bill. "Take it from an ignored son. Those boys need input. If your wife is as fiscally challenged as you say, let Frank do it. Help him learn. He's going to take over one day; make sure he's ready. Don't shield him or shelter him. See?"

Bill nodded. "You're right. It's just ... Maria could nag a saint to drink."

Gibbs added his advice. "I've been married four times. Widowed once, divorced three. Don't let her. Put your foot down and just explain that this is the way it is going to be. She'll either deal or leave." He rubbed his face with both hands. "If she leaves ... well, I'm sorry to say, it wasn't real in the first place."

Bill looked sad for a moment then said, "I really do think she loves me, she just doesn't understand. I ... I've been keeping the worst from her so she wouldn't worry. Maybe I'm shielding her, too."

Frank, overhearing the conversation, interjected, "Mom loves us all. But she's oblivious; you have to slap her in the face with things just so she gets it. I've tried to be gentle with her but we're going to have to lay it all out for her and make sure she has a good grasp of the situation. She'll help out, when she realizes that it's do or ... whatever."

Everyone realized that he was avoiding the 'die' part of the saying.

Gibbs and Tony hung around for a few more minutes, just chewing the fat. Tony finally said, "Boss, they should have called about the motors by now."

Gibbs nodded to Bill. "Keep in touch. I mean it."

Bill nodded. "I'll do that. Happy leave." He turned to swat Frank on the shoulder and drape his other arm over Joe's shoulders. Joe turned to look back. He called, "Thanks, guys," then headed for his perch behind the register. Bill led Frank deeper into the store.

Tony grinned at Gibbs. "Well, that went well. We better get a move on. I'll call them while you drive."

.

Tony's call yielded unexpected results: he was told that they could come in anytime to approve the paint jobs. He said they were on their way. He called Remy, who called Dean, who called Tim, who called Jimmy. Typical phone chain. Each man then checked in with Tony.

Tony called Wynona back and told her they'd all be there by 1300. When she said, "'Scuse me?" he explained, "Damn. Sorry, I forgot you're a civvie. One p.m. We'll all come in one SUV so we can take the bikes with us, if we approve them."

Wynona talked for a bit, then Tony said, "Tim has decided that he's no biker, he's just passengering, so he can drive the SUV back. Jimmy will be driving the trike exclusively." He listened again, then smirked, "And if you actually believe that, I've got some beachfront property in the Everglades for sale, reasonable." He shut the phone on Wynona's laughter.

Gibbs snorted at Tony's joke. "You really believe that Tim won't try that trike at least?"

"No, but he says he's not going to try a motor until he's sure he won't wreck it."

"Might get some sort of dirt bike for him to learn on." Gibbs' doubtful expression was matched by Tony's.

"Not sure about that, Jet. It's a whole different thing. Dirt biking is like ... apples, and road riding like oranges. Both are fruit, and that's all."

"Yeah, I know. Well, we'll burn that bridge when we get to it."

They spent the next forty minutes getting back to Gibbs' place to pick up everyone. Gibbs' place was now considered Team Gibbs HQ; everyone hung around there more than they did anywhere else. Tim and Tony usually left at about 2230, with Jimmy leaving whenever he needed to, to help Ducky. The elderly ME had finally admitted that driving his beloved Morgan was getting to be too much for him. Jimmy drove him in his truck much of the time, as Ducky said that getting in and out of the much higher framed pickup was easier.

Jimmy had admitted that he was a bit relieved that Ducky didn't drive that much anymore. Ducky was as sharp as they came, but his age was against him. His reaction time was bad, and he got stars around street lights now. Driving home at night was a bit more than just problematical. So Jimmy was designated driver for Ducky, which meant that he needed to be home in time to wake up and take him to work. Not that that was much of a problem, as Ducky was now obviously grooming Jimmy to take over for him, soon. He, Ducky, would stay on in an advisory position, but he was admitting that it was all getting a bit too much for his old bones.

When they arrived at GHQ, Gibbs Headquarters, everyone else was gathered in the kitchen, making a variety of salads. Tony had put everyone on another diet. He'd announced that he was appalled, even at himself, at the diets that everyone ate when they weren't building up to an op.

No one complained much. The salads were all very good and included chicken, tuna and egg. Each salad was dressed with low-cal mayo. Other salads were all-vegetable such as carrot, slaw and spring greens. Even Gibbs ate without complaining.

It didn't hurt that Friday was pizza day, and Sunday was steak. Hamburgers were every other Saturday. This was a healthy Saturday

Gibbs made himself a sandwich with whole-grain bread, chicken salad, lettuce, and tomatoes. He found a spoonful of carrot-raisin salad and another of slaw on his plate as well as a handful of some sort of chips. He glared.

"Need the veggies." Jimmy gave him an apologetic grimace. "I'm not that fond of raisins either."

Gibbs shrugged. "Ate way too many of 'em on deployment." He scrapped the orange mass onto Tony's plate. "Give me some of that pea salad instead."

Jimmy spooned some onto Gibbs' plate, saying, "It's got carrots in it."

"Not the carrots I don't like. Don't like rotten grapes." Gibbs picked up his sandwich and took a bite.

Tony snickered; he remembered his first experience with Gibbs' dislike of raisins. "Yeah. I remember. We were on a stakeout, and I was eating yoghurt-coated raisins. He rolled down the window and spat them out in the gutter. The look on his face."

Gibbs chewed and swallowed before saying, "I thought they were white chocolate."

Tim frowned, then said, "Ew. That would be a bit of a shock."

Gibbs nodded. "Really. White chocolate is okay. But yoghurt-covered raisins? Not on my good list."

"Then keep your hands out of my snacks." Tony nodded once as if that settled everything and chomped into his own sandwich.

Gibbs maturely gave him a bird, then went back to his food.

Jimmy snickered while Tim compared this more relaxed and laid-back Gibbs to the one of only six months ago. He liked the new Gibbs much better. He realized that one of Gibbs' problems was, he felt disconnected; as Team Lead he was expected to keep some distance from his team; but it had gone against the grain for the team-oriented Marine. Now he was dealing with equals again and was a much happier man.

They cleaned the kitchen and headed out in one SUV. It was a bit cramped for seven fairly broad-shouldered men. After Dean accidentally elbowed Remy, who flinched and kicked the back of Gibbs seat, as Gibbs was driving again, Tony told them all to sit still and shut up. The usual bitching and moaning was giving him a headache. Gibbs side-eyed him then asked, "You getting a migraine?"

Tony thought about that for a moment. "Don't think so. I usually only get one when I'm concussed, or shortly after. Just ... it's like dealing with a bunch of kids some days."

Dean exclaimed, "Hey! Not like I'm the one who superglued the CO to the john seat."

Cosmo nodded. "So true. AJ, you're becoming a stick-in-the-mud. Lighten up."

Remy agreed. "Headache is caused by stress. Less stress, lower blood pressure, no headache. Relax, man, enjoy."

Tony snarled at him then leaned back in the seat to see if he couldn't get rid of the pounding in his temples. His team gave each other worried looks.

The Docs were always telling Tony that the next concussion might be his last. Gibbs had even quit smacking him in the head, mostly. Tony claimed that the DiNozzo head was way too hard for the Docs to be right. Everyone worried. He laughed at them.

Without even opening his eyes Tony mumbled, "You're all thinking way too loud. I'm fine. It's just eye strain. Shut up."

Since Tony needed reading glasses, as all long-sighted people did, and currently needed new glasses, it really was just eye strain.

Gibbs, who needed new glasses too, announced, "Tim, make an appointment for both of us. I'll drag AJ to it. Just make them same day, same time."

Tim grumbled but got out his tablet to do as he was told. A few minutes later he said, "You'll get a text and an email as a reminder. Read the damn things."

And then, they were there. The gate slid open, and one of the workers motioned them over to the shop. Gibbs pulled up at the end of the shop to keep the SUV in the shade and out of the way. They hurried in to see what their motors looked like.

It turned out that the motors were beautiful. The paint was that deep royal blue that was expected, with a perfect micro-flake gold undertone. The pin-striping was done by hand, not stenciled or a plastic machine-made appliqué. And the names were also hand-done. The helmets all matched the Marine blue, and the names on them had elegant scroll work around them.

They loved the trike. Jimmy grinned so hard that his face looked like it might split. It was done in the same blue as the motors, but the trunk was decorated with gold pin-striping and black flashing. It was elegant, sleek, and well-balanced. The trailer was decorated to match the trunk.

They exclaimed over the bikes and trike, helmets, and trailer. Dusty and his crew looked pleased and offered drinks all around.

Since they were driving or working soon, it was soda or sweet tea. They sat and visited for a few minutes, then Jimmy got up to wander around the shop to look at the fascinating equipment. He grinned when he saw a salmon ladder in one corner. He turned to Ed, who'd followed him, and said, "Anyone here actually master that?"

Ed shook his head. "No, one of those idiots decided to try it after he saw it on that TV show. You know, the one with the rich dude with a bow? Weird."

Jimmy shrugged. "It's really hard. Can I try yours?"

Ed laughed. "Sure, help yourself."

Jimmy picked up the pole and put it up on the first 'step'. "Okay, here goes." He kicked hard and got the pole into the next step. This attracted the attention of the other men.

Tony ambled over to watch, then offered, "Don't kick. Pull your legs up at the same time you pull with your arms. That'll give you more float time and make it easier to move the bar up. You're supposed to be using your abs, thighs, and biceps."

Jimmy hung for a moment while he thought about that. "Um ..." he dropped to the floor. "Show me?"

Tony went to the bar. "Okay. And, this whole rack is metal, so really, don't be afraid to slam that bar to the next step." Tony demonstrated, working his way up to the top.

This attracted the attention of the rest of the pack, and they all gathered around. Dean yelled, "Go, AJ!" while Cosmo turned to Remy to say, "Knew someone would start something. Swear."

Remy just kept taking bets from the mechanics. They were all convinced that Tony wouldn't make it all the way up, then back down. They were betting on which rung he would fall from. Since he didn't fall at all, they all paid up, grumbling good-naturedly. Since Remy didn't take a bet over five dollars, no one was out enough for hard feelings.

Then everyone decided that, if Tony could do it, they could too. Dean, Remy, and Cosmo could; they'd done it during training. Gibbs had never even tried, but he would now. Jimmy knew he could manage a few steps, with some coaching. Tim was doubtful, but knew he was going to at least try.

The mechanics all refused to even try. No one much blamed them, as the average age was beer-50. Except for Ed, who was only 29, but his activity was walking to work... all six blocks.

But all the SEALs did it, as did Gibbs, Jimmy, and Tim.

Dean and Cosmo managed all the way up and about halfway down before they missed. Remy managed up, but flubbed the flip to the 'down' side and fell from the top. He wasn't injured, as it wasn't any farther than he'd have dropped from a HALO jump. Tony snarked, "You'll be working that until you get it right." He turned his eyes to Dean and Cosmo. "You two as well." They all just grinned at him.

Tim was next up and, as he'd never done this before, Tony coached him quietly through the exercise. He only made it up four steps; but, since he'd never done it before, Tony praised him, saying, "Good work for a first time. You'll do one step more each week until you make it to the top."

Tim eyed the contraption. "Yeah. Like we've got one at home."

Gibbs just smirked at him. "I can make a nice one in the back yard. Not that hard. The only piece that needs to be metal is the pole. My turn."

He managed all the way up and two steps down, then fell. "Well, shit. That's a lot harder than it looks."

One of the mechanics moaned, "Looks hard enough for me. Not a chance."

Gibbs rubbed his stinging hands on his pants, grinned, then said, "Well, if you can't run with the big dogs, stay on the porch."

Dean side-eyed Gibbs, demanding, "Jet, tell me that's not the first time you've done that."

Gibbs smirked at him. "Well, I would. But you hate it when people lie to you."

"Asshole."

"Everyone has one." Gibbs tossed an empty soda can at him.

Dean caught it and crushed it. He eyed the can for a moment then finished mashing it into a ball. "Scrap?" One of the mechanics pointed. Dean tossed it into the barrel, never noticing the looks he got.

Jimmy took his second try at the ladder with Cosmo coaching him while the rest of the men cheered him on. He was very happy to make it halfway up.

Tony grinned at Gibbs. "Great show. Now all you have to do is build us one."

Gibbs nodded. "I said I'd do it when we get off leave."

"Right. So." Tony popped his back. "We need to get going."

They all gathered around the motors to congratulate the mechanics one last time, get their helmets on, test the com system, and roll out the wide doors.

Gibbs, Tony, and Remy had ordered kickers, while Dean, Cosmo, and Jimmy had electric starters. Tim stayed out of it but vowed to learn to start both.

Gibbs knocked down the crank and gave it a primer stroke. He grinned widely as the motor started on the first kick. He let the motor idle as he plugged in the com system and said, "Viper on com."

Tim replied, "Got you, Viper. Digimon is also go."

Jimmy was still talking with one of the mechanics, getting a down and dirty explanation of what he could expect from towing a trailer. He realized that it made a bigger difference than he'd expected, including the fact that he couldn't back up, at all. He jumped when the man he was talking to plugged in his com and he heard, "Gremlin?" He turned to look at Tim who pointed to his ear. He fiddled with the volume for a moment then replied, "On and five-by-five."

Tim continued his radio checks, making sure that each com system was working properly. He found that the motors with electronic starters seemed to have a weaker signal than the kickers. He wondered at that, but decided it didn't make that much difference.

He glanced around then said, "All coms on and functioning properly. All systems go."

Gibbs and Tony had agreed that they would ride in staggered formation, but with partners. Tony led out in the right track with Gibbs about ten feet behind him and in the left. Remy went next with Jimmy and Tim on the trike taking up next position. Dean and Cosmo came last to be eyes behind for Jimmy.

The group rumbled out onto the street, waving farewell to the shop crew. Wynona came out of the office building to wave to them as well.

Gibbs voice came over the com. "Head for HQ; we'll pack and check. Over."

Tim replied, "Ten-four. I need to do some adjusting on the main com."

It was quiet after that, except for a few directions from Gibbs or comments about road conditions from one person or another.

They were oblivious to the stares of pedestrians and other drivers.

Gibbs eyed his garage and wondered where the hell he was going to park five motors and a trike plus a trailer. He grumbled as he realized that he was going to have to take his Challenger out of the garage and park it beside the garage, and that still wasn't going to be enough room.

The rest of the group pulled up beside him and dropped the kick stands. They dismounted and put away helmets and other gear.

Tony announced. "I'm going to look into some sort of storage. We need to put our bikes up, but I'm not in favor of taking up all of Gibbs' garage for our motors. Tim ..." Tim looked up from his iPad, an inquiring expression on his face. "See what you can find in the way of a secure storage that'll hold all the motors."

Jimmy called over, "Don't bother for me. Ducky has a garage the size of a hangar; he's already said that I can keep the trike and the trailer there."

Gibbs added, "I'll store my motor in front of the Challenger."

Tony nodded. "Okay. That means we need storage for four. If you can find something with roll-up doors on both sides, or ends ..." he waved a hand in a dismissive fashion. "Whatever ... we can park face-out and be able to get any one motor out without moving anything."

Tim tapped on his pad for a moment. "Okay. I've found a really nice one ... climate-controlled, easy access, doors on each end. It works out tooo ... $60 apiece and a one-time lock fee of $50. Not too shabby, and it's within walking distance of our apartment. Nice."

Remy patted Tim on the shoulder. "Did good. Lock it up. We'll take up a collection and pay you back inside."

Tim waved a hand. "Not a problem. Put it on my Discover card on delayed payment. We'll be able to put things off until we get back. All we have to do is pick up the lock at the office."

They trooped into the house to settle all over the kitchen. Gibbs eyed the table and realized that it was more than ready for replacement.

"No one sit on that table again. I'm afraid that it'll fall in." Gibbs reached for the coffee only to be stopped by Dean who just shoved a mug in his direction. "Thanks."

"Made both pots full before we left. Those pressure pots are great. Still hot, fresh, and ready for me." Dean grinned.

Tim got everyone's attention by simply yelling, "Shaddap!" When he was sure everyone was paying attention he continued. "Okay. We're leaving in the morning for Stillwater. That's ... four hours?" Gibbs nodded. "Plus or minus a bit for traffic. If we leave at 0600, we'll miss morning traffic ... or we could get up at 0700 and get breakfast here, be on the road by ... 0930 and be in Stillwater in time for lunch. Vote?"

No one really seemed to care; the general consensus was, it was Gibbs' father, he should decide. He decided on something else. "Up and on the road by 0600, but we'll stop at a place I know for breakfast. Great waffles. I know you bottomless pits will be ready to eat again at noon."

Cosmo snorted. "Look who's talking. Who was it snatched the last of the bacon that I had my eye on?"

Gibbs swatted him in the head. "You snooze, you lose."

Cosmo rubbed his head, looking very much put upon. "Jerk."

Tony smacked Gibbs. "Jet. No, just no. You do not get to smack my men."

Gibbs, in his turn, rubbed the back of his head. "Why not? They're my roomies."

Tony agreed but added, "So they are, but they're my men. Bit protective. Deal."

Gibbs just shrugged and went for more coffee.

.

After coffee and a bit of relaxation, they finished loading the bikes, trike, and trailer. Tim had actually set up a spreadsheet so that everyone would know where everything was. And he did mean everything; he had even entered where they put such things as their socks and underwear. This seemed a bit silly, until you realized that finding things sometimes meant unpacking a whole saddle bag, unless you knew exactly where something was.

He also spent an hour going over the com system, tweaking it so that it worked up to his rather exacting standards. He wasn't about to have something fail while they were on the road. He didn't want someone getting lost or having a wreck because a solenoid or circuit board lost its shit.

When he was finally done, he found that he was starving. "Hey, we gonna eat, or what?"

Cosmo just handed him a bowl of Remy's gumbo and a hard roll. "Butter?"

Tim had already shoveled a spoonful of the delicious soup into his mouth. He mumbled around it. "Mo. Fim."

Cosmo translated that as 'no, I'm fine,' and wandered off to finish checking his list against what he had packed and make sure that he had everything and that it was where it was supposed to be.

It might seem strange, all these preparations for a simple motorcycle vacation, but these men were highly trained professionals, even Jimmy. And they weren't leaving anything to chance. Jimmy was bringing his full combat pack as were all the SEALs and Gibbs. Tim, a complete computer nerd, was bringing his combat pack, a tablet, his laptop and a smart phone. Not that everyone else didn't have a smart phone of their own.

Except for Gibbs; his phone was still an old-style flip-phone. Tim scornfully called it a semi-brick. Gibbs always rebutted with, "It makes calls, takes voice mail, has a phone book; what more do I need?"

Tim was determined to drag him into the 21st century. Gibbs had agreed because he'd missed a clue in a case. It had been easy for anyone who knew anything about Facebook to see that the CPO was getting threats by PM and on her Wall. Gibbs had completely missed it, looking instead for a hardcopy book of some sort. They'd wasted several hours until Gibbs had sent Tim to look for her 'book'. When Tim had turned to his computer Gibbs had an epiphany equal to a punch in the head. Due to that, he'd agreed to let Tim teach him.

Gibbs eyed his phone; it was beeping in a way it never had before. "Digimon? Whisky Charlie Foxtrot?"

Tim took the phone. "Battery is failing. It's crying for help." He turned the phone off, stopping the irritating noise. "I'm gonna pull the battery and ..." he opened the phone, eyed the battery then demanded, "How old is this phone? And when is the last time you cleaned the battery compartment?"

Gibbs eyed the partially dismantled phone. The inside was decidedly filthy. "You're supposed to clean it? How? and ... I think that thing's ... Tony?" He turned to look at Tony.

"No idea, Jet. At least two years. I'm really glad you stopped smashing phones. Got real tiresome ... trying to keep phones for you." He shook his head.

Tim plugged the phone into his laptop and did 'things' as Gibbs put it. He downloaded all the ring tones, contacts list, and anything else that needed saving. "Okay, I've saved your life to my laptop. We're headed out to get you a new phone. Come on."

Gibbs eye his watch for a moment. "Tim, it's 2100."

Tim waved a hand. "Not that late. I know a guy who's open nearly 24/7. He and his brother run a place. You'll be keeping your current plan, we'll just switch phones for you. Come on."

Gibbs shrugged. "Okay." He looked around. "As for you lugnuts, I expect to come back to a still-standing house." His teasing smile resulted in a variety of personal insults and general abuse.

Tim replaced the battery and put the phone together while they were talking. He pocketed the phone and a flash drive which contained the data off the phone in case the transfer got flubbed.

They wound up taking the Challenger, as all the other 'boxes' were blocked by motors.

.

Gibbs eyed the tiny storefront with some misgivings. "You sure about this? Looks mighty fly-by-night to me."

Tim shrugged. "It's okay, boss, I checked 'em out years ago. They're small, a bit exclusive, but really good. They have parts that no one else has. Mostly betas of new stuff. So I fill out a survey on a few things and get newest and best at great prices. I don't mind."

Gibbs poked him into motion. "Well, if you don't, I don't. Just don't expect me to deal with fixin' somethin'."

"Never, Jet." Tim grinned at Gibbs' jump when the 'bell' turned out to be some sort of sci-fi sound effect.

A voice from the back called, "Park it somewhere, we're just about done." A yell, the sound of electronic gunfire and some swearing let them know that whoever it was, was playing one of several combat MMORPGs. Another bout of swearing and sad music made Tim snicker.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Got killed. He'll be out in a second." Tim pulled Gibbs over to a display case. All it contained was several phones. "Here. Smart phones. Pick one. Any one. Just whichever you like the look of."

Gibbs eyed the case with misgivings. "Don't much like the look of any of 'em. I swear, all I have to do is look at one and that glass thingy breaks."

"Touch screen. And I'm gonna limit the number of applications, or apps, that you have available. Anything you'll never use, off. Anything that either one of us finds truly annoying, off. That'll save you a fuck ton of memory and keep the icons, the little picture things, to a minimum." Tim smiled. "See? You're already learning stuff."

Gibbs bopped him on the shoulder. "Shut it." Tim, maturely, stuck out his tongue.

They looked up as the man came in from the back. "Sorry. Most people who come in this late... Oh, hey, Tim. What's up?"

Tim nodded to the red-headed young man. "Hey, Ed." He jerked a thumb at Gibbs. "Gibbs needs a phone. Something from this century."

Ed looked Gibbs over. "Gibbs the Luddite? Man, good luck with that." Gibbs glowered at him. "Stuff it, dude; put that glower away. Dad's a Marine DI."

Gibbs relaxed. "Don't look it."

Ed shrugged. "I'm the smart one in the family. I'd quote you all my accomplishments but I'm shy that way. So what can I do you for?"

Tim pointed to a phone. "That one. It's one of those with the new space-age screen?"

"It is. Armor-clad. Dad has one. Hasn't broken it yet. And I pared the apps down to what he actually uses. He likes it." Ed opened the case and handed the phone to Gibbs.

He took it, turning the thing over in his hands. "Okay, how do you even turn it on?"

Tim showed him the proper button. "Right here, but don't turn it off unless you're charging it."

Ed corrected Tim. "Not even then. I haven't turned my phone off since I got it. It auto updates at midnight. And you'll have to block some apps as the service wants everyone to have all the apps all the time. How they expect that to work, I don't know."

Tim agreed. "Some apps that I never use are memory hogs and I had to crack my phone to keep 'em off. Idiots."

Gibbs ignored that, only saying, "I'll trust you to deal with that."

Ed nodded. "I rooted my tablet an hour after I got it. Unusable." He picked up a phone from the back counter. "Here's a list of the stuff my Dad uses the most." He poked at the screen. "There. Email."

"Thanks. I'll look it over when we do the setup." Tim checked to make sure he had the email. "Got it."

Gibbs thought about the conversation for a moment. 'You mean that someone somewhere can actually force you to have ... apps that you don't want and can't use?"

Ed nodded. "Yup. And getting 'em off is a royal pain in the ass. They actually turn tablets into bricks. I think it's because they want you to buy a new one with more memory. Sucks, but there you are."

Gibbs shrugged. "I'd just quit using that one and get something different."

Tim replied, 'Some people do, others just quit using pads altogether."

Gibbs' noncommittal grunt expressed his opinion. "Well, so ... now what?"

Tim nodded in the direction of the register. "Pay the man, then we'll get your data transferred and put this phone on your account. When we get back home, I'll go through the apps with you and you can decide if you want them or not."

Gibbs produced a credit card, paid his due and watched as Tim and Ed did things on a laptop which included transferring his service and getting all his data from the old phone to the new one.

Finally Tim said, "There. All done. And I've already deleted more than half the apps on this thing. You'll never use them, don't need to understand them, and they're memory hogs of epic proportions. Like Facebook. You'll never use it and don't need to access it. If there's anything needs doing there, I'll deal and explain it to you. I did leave the GPS and a couple of other apps that are in the background. I need them to maintain the phone or keep track of you. So ... here."

Gibbs took the phone back and stuck it in his pocket. "Okay. I'll sit down with you when we get home and you can show me all the bells and whistles."

Tim nodded. "Okay. And I'll make a folder, name is Don't Need. You can move anything you don't want or think you won't need into it and I'll delete it or explain why you actually need it."

Tim took a moment to visit with Ed while Gibbs went back to the car.

Tim finished his conversation by saying, "Well, I better get going. Gibbs isn't the most patient man in the world and I don't want him waiting too long. Bye."

Ed just waved a hand. "See, ya, Tim. Take it easy."

.

Next morning was greeted with some moaning and bitching, but not as much as usual. Gibbs had realized, weeks ago, that the SEALs only complained when there was nothing else to do. Sort of like every enlisted ever.

They quickly washed and dressed, made coffee, and settled in to wait for Jimmy, Tim, and Tony.

The three men arrived shortly after the first pot of coffee was done. They'd all come in Tony's ride. Jimmy had left his truck at his place, and Tim had finally decided to store the Boxter. There was way too much attention paid to it, all by the wrong sort of person.

Tony snatched Cosmo's coffee out of his hand and swallowed it all in two gulps. "Man. No coffee. Didn't realize that Tim'd made up the last of it yesterday. Dyin' here."

Gibbs eyed him for a moment then offered his own mug. Tony really did look frazzled. "Bad night?"

"Yeah. Party in the building next door. Right outside my window." He rubbed his face. "Man, I hate mariachi music at midnight."

Remy sipped his coffee for a moment. "Call the cops."

Tim sighed over his coffee. "Did. Twice. They finally shut down at about 0120."

Gibbs scowled into his new mug, provided without comment by Dean. "You two need to get out of there. Abby's not comfortable coming over without escort. And the grounds are run down, the parking lots need new asphalt, and the people hanging around are all dirt bags."

Tony glanced at Tim. They'd both been thinking the same thing and talked about it a bit. "I think so too, Jet. But my lease isn't up for another six months. I don't want to have to pay to break the lease."

Dean shrugged that concern off, saying, "Well, that just gives you plenty of time to find the right place. Start looking when we get back."

Cosmo agreed. "Too true." He grabbed the new pot and topped up everyone's mug. "Finish that and let's get on the road. I'm hungry."

They finished their coffee and policed the kitchen. Gibbs shut down the water heaters and turned the AC down to hibernate. He checked the windows and back door. He then turned off the lights and the security system on.

"Okay, buttoned up. Let's go."

People up and down the block walked out onto their front steps or peeked out their windows as six Harley-Davidson flathead V-Twin's, 110 cubic inches of American heavy metal motorcycle, rumbled down the street and out of the neighborhood.

A quick turn put them on the freeway and headed for Stillwater. Gibbs cracked the throttle open and smoothly accelerated to 65 mph.

Traffic was light, as they were leaving the city rather than trying to get into it. This allowed for a bit of speeding on their part. They were soon roaring along at about 80 mph with no interference in sight. Tim kept an ear on the locals, and the fuzzbuster didn't let out a peep.

Due to the speed they traveled and the light traffic, they made their breakfast stop in a bit less than 45 minutes.

They parked in a row with the trike on the outside. It didn't take them long to stow their helmets and jackets in the trunk mounted over the rear fender. The old way of just draping their jacket over the seat and dropping the helmet over a handlebar was now a sure invitation to lose it all.

They walked into the restaurant and headed for a long table in the middle of the room. They settled in, picked up menus, and waited for the waitress to show.

What they got was an unhappy sheriff.

"Boys, so far, so good. But I'm old-fashioned and believe in nipping problems in the bud. You don't start anything, and I won't have to finish it. I'm not askin' you to leave, just have your breakfast, pay, and go. Okay?" He looked stern, but they could all see the tension in his shoulders that said he was ready for more than some smart reply.

Gibbs stood up slowly. "No problems from us ... unless someone else starts something. I'm gonna reach into my back pocket and get my ID. Everyone else is going to do the same. Warning now ... we're all armed and have permits." He got out his ID and handed it over. He got a look at the sheriff's name tag. "Sheriff Nichols."

"Yeah, yeah. Damn it. What the hell is NCIS? Never heard of you." The sheriff gave the ID a baffled look.

"Naval Criminal Investigative Service. We deal with crimes committed by or against members of the Navy and Marine Corps. No reason you should have heard of us." Gibbs had long ago quit feeling annoyed that people didn't know what NCIS was.

The sheriff checked ID on everyone, Jimmy's especially. "You're an MD? What do you do?"

Jimmy smiled, that tiny, self-effacing one that said he wasn't feeling secure, "I'm the Morgue Assistant. I help move the bodies, clean instruments, and I'm learning the investigative techniques necessary to be an ME in my turn."

Sheriff Nichols nodded. "Okay. The rest of you are ... ?"

Tony cleared his throat. "SEAL Team ... um ... one that doesn't ... technically ... exist."

"I see. Well, thanks for your service ... whatever it is. And enjoy your breakfast." He saluted, turned around, and left, calling to the waitress, "Relax. Bunch o' squids and Feds on a road trip."

The waitress smiled at him, nodding her appreciation. "Okay. Thanks, Don." She gathered up the coffee pot and some setups. "Okay, gentlemen, who ... oh, stupid question." She'd been about to ask who wanted coffee, but the upturned cup at every place made it moot. She poured coffee all around and made sure the creamer pitchers and sugar dispensers were full. "Made your decision yet?" She knew they probably hadn't, but it was a good idea to ask.

Tony eyed the table. "Anyone?"

Dean, Cosmo, and Remy all decided on the Farmer's Breakfast. Jimmy, Tim, and Gibbs wanted the Ham n' Eggs Special. Tony shrugged, "I'll have the four-ounce breakfast steak, eggs on top."

Tammy went through the usual questions about potatoes, bread, and juice, then went away to put in the order.

Tony looked out the window to see several teens eyeing the motors. He sighed. "Think I ought to go out?"

Gibbs assessed the situation. "Maybe. If one of them sits on my motor, I'm going out."

Remy just wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood up. "I'll go."

He was just in time to keep one of the bigger boys from touching a motor. "Do-an wanna do 'at."

"What? I was just looking," the boy looked indignant.

Remy frowned down at him. Very effective, as he was some six inches taller than the teen. "Mama said ya look wi' your eyes an' touch wi' your han'."

The girl standing behind the boy said, "See, Jamie, I told you. Don't touch. Now come on. We're going to be late for detention and I don't want another."

Remy glanced the group over, sizing up the whole of them in a second. They were a typical, clichéd high school group. The Jock, Mr. Touchy; the Girl Friend; The Best Friend, and the Best Friend's Girl. He shook his head. "An' wha' ya get a detention fo'?" He let his Cajun accent take over.

The Girl Friend sighed, "Mr. I'm-smarter-than-the-teachers decided we should skip. We all forgot that there was a history quiz. We got caught down at the river and got a Saturday detention. It's like something out of a dumb ol' movie. Except, I'm grounded until after the make-up test and I have to get at least a B. Jill is grounded too. Jim?"

The Best Friend sighed, "Me too. And I've got to pass that test or Coach will bench me for the rest of the season. I'm just ..." he glared at his friend then said, "Jamie, I'm not ... I'm just ..." he turned his back and stormed away, calling over his shoulder. "I'm done. Jill, come on."

Jill squeaked and scurried after her boyfriend.

Jamie glared after his friend then turned to his girl friend. "Well? Angela?"

Angela shrugged her shoulder in obvious irritation. "I think Daddy was right. You just want to cause trouble, and you get me into it too. I don't think I want to be with you until you get your stuff together. Grow up." And with that, she took off after her friends.

Jamie kicked the kerb. "Damn it. See what you did?"

Remy snorted, grabbed the kid by one arm and headed for the door. "An' that's your main problem. Ya wanna blame everyone else fo' your stupidity." He dragged a chair from another table, plopped it at their table and dropped Jamie into it. "Sit!"

Gibbs glowered at the boy, who immediately cringed. "What's up?"

Remy quickly explained, then turned to Tony. "AJ? Wha' you tink?"

"I 'tink' that he needs to man up and get over himself. I don't know what kind of youthful angst you feel, and I don't care. Getting your friends into trouble because you're bored is all kinds of stupid. What's your problem?" Tony had a good idea but he needed to hear it.

"What do you all care?"

Dean scowled. "We care because we do. Now, what the hell is your real problem?"

Jamie eyed the cup of coffee that had appeared in front of him. He looked around at the fierce eyes and concerned faces and broke. "Okay. I give. Every damn adult I run into lately asks the same question." He took a deep shuddering breath and said, "I want to be a Marine but ... everyone says I'm not tough enough. My Gran says I'm too young. Dad says I'm not old enough to know what's good for me. But ... I'm seventeen, I've got no prospects here. I'm not stupid, but ... I don't want to be an accountant or something. And I'm not mechanically inclined. So ... and I want to stay here, or at least come back between deployments." He rubbed his face then picked up his mug.

Gibbs blinked. "Well, shit. Who does that sound like?" Everyone snickered; Gibbs looked around. "I can tell you ..." he turned to Jamie and continued, "You got to get rid of that mad. If you don't you're going to wind up dead or in prison. I lucked out and joined the Corp, then NCIS. Otherwise I'd be takin a dirt nap."

Tony nodded. "Impromptu counseling session." He turned to Jamie. "Look, this is the way it is. Marines do not take idiots, troublemakers, or slackers. None of the services do anymore. We take only the best and brightest. Get your grades up and keep them up. Stay out of trouble. When the time comes, you'll make it on merit and hard work. No matter what anyone says. Get over your mad. Attitude, especially a bad one, will tank you fast."

Jamie eye him for a moment then dropped the attitude completely. "You know, you're the first person who hasn't told me I don't have a chance. Who ... not tryin' to be a smart ass this time ... who are you?"

Tony dropped his ID on the table and pushed it to Jamie. Gibbs added his.

Jamie picked up one then the other. After studying both he thought while he finished his coffee. "I see. A LtCmd in the Navy and a Special Agent with NCIS." He put his coffee mug down. "I'm actually listening to you." He glanced at his watch. "And I gotta run or I'm gonna be late for detention and I don't need the extra trouble. Thanks. Bye."

He ran out the door and disappeared around a corner.

The waitress came over with a fresh pot. "Thanks. Jamie's a good kid, but ... well, his mama took off and left him with the grands. They're old and takin' mom's shit out on him. His dad works hard. He's gone a lot and really isn't coping well with the whole situation. Kid's a mess. Nice to see that someone got through to him."

Tony glanced at Gibbs then told her, "Someone needs to check out his dad. I don't think he's around enough. What's with that?"

Tammy sighed. "Small town. Everyone knows everyone else's business. It's really humiliating when your mom takes off with the ... could you believe it? ... milkman. Seriously. And his grands are old and opinionated and take their upset out on him. His Dad is working too much ... hiding from the gossip, if you ask me. It's a mess. I think maybe your talk got through to him that people do care. All he has to do is reach out."

Tony nodded. "Sometimes all that attitude is a cry for help. Should we talk to someone?"

"No, honey, I think you turned him around. If total strangers care, surely someone in town cares too. I'll talk to the sheriff. He'll talk to John. That's Jamie's dad." The loud ting of a tap bell caught her attention. "Oh! Food's up. Be just a sec."

She delivered the platters and refilled their coffee, smiling a bit flirtatiously at them all.

Sheriff Nichols ambled back in and took Jamie's seat. "Ran into Jamie Phelps runnin' hell for leather in the direction of the high school. Now, you and I both know that there's usually only two reasons a boy like that is gonna run. He's either runnin' from trouble or to it. I'm pleased to say, he was running because he was late for detention. I gave him a ride and a note. I knew he was having problems and finally pried the story out of him. Thanks for the help with him. Good kid, just full of rage and lonely. I'll keep an eye on him. If he deserves it, I'll give him a letter to the proper recruiter." He stood back up. "Anyway, thanks again. Keep it between the ditches and remember the lid's on top." He made his way back out the door.

Tony watched his retreating back for a moment then returned to his food.

Gibbs gulped coffee before allowing, "I think we did good."

They quickly finished the delicious food and leaned back in their chairs to have one last cup of coffee. Tammy happily refilled everyone, commenting, "Man, I'm glad you turned out to be good people. We get gang bikers in here from time to time. Most of them don't want trouble and just eat and go, but every now and then we have trouble. Last time that happened they broke every window in the place. Did over $15,000 dollars in damage in less than five minutes."

Tony shook his head. "The only thing I'm thinking about demolishing is one of those cinnamon rolls. Without icing, I think."

Tammy eyed him for a moment then shrugged. "If you eat one of those monsters after a steak and egg breakfast with all the trimmings ..." she chuckled. "You're a bottomless pit."

Remy nodded. "He is, yes, he certainly is."

Dean and Cosmo eyed a roll then decided to split one.

Tammy shook her head. "I don't know where you put it all. Hollow legs, all of you."

Gibbs laughed. "Well, we work most of it off and worry the rest."

Tony nodded. "We do."

They finished the sweet rolls in record time, chatting about cases and missions.

An older gentleman came over and asked, "If you don't mind. What branch?"

No one minded and Tony did the introductions, pointing to each man in turn and telling him name, branch and rank.

"US Army, 11th Infantry Brigade, Vietnam, 1970. Mstr. Sgt." He nodded. "Thanks for your service."

Gibbs returned, "And thank you for yours. Sit a spell?"

The older man shook his head. "Not today. Gotta get home. My wife ..." he grinned. "she wants to go to the city and I better get going before she yanks my leash." He turned away and left nodding to the cashier on his way out.

As they'd agreed that Tony should pay all the combined bills then figure out who owed what at the end of the day, he went to the register to settle up.

They took their time getting ready. Tim checked the com, which he would do every time they started out, and they were on their way again.

Tammy and a couple of others waved as they roared out of the parking lot.

.

PD - Psychological Dominance

The Salmon Ladder is and exercise rack made popular by its appearance on the TV show Arrow. You can see it in action by googling it on YouTube.


	3. Chapter 3

American Heavy Metal.03

. Chapter Three .

Jackson Gibbs looked up from his magazine when he heard the rumble. He sighed. Motorcycles meant either a bunch of ignorant thugs or a group of men out to enjoy themselves. Either one could be trouble, or not.

He was a bit unhappy to see the whole gang park in front of his store and dismount. He had to chuckle when he noticed that the driver of the trike had parked with the trailer sticking out in the street. Then a familiar figure ambled over, unhitched the trailer and, with help from a man twice his size, walked it into its own parking space.

"Leroy! What the heck?"

Gibbs grinned at his father and spent the next few minutes explaining the situation to him.

Jackson grunted, then demanded, "So you've got so much leave built up that it's a matter of use-it-or-lose-it?" Gibbs nodded. "Sounds just like you. So ... introduce me to the mob." He eyed the men surrounding him and said, "Tim and Tony I recognize, but the rest of these young fellows?"

Gibbs made introductions, telling his father which men lived with him and which didn't. He finished with, "Jimmy lives with Ducky and Tim and Tony are moving the second we find them a place." He glowered Tony into silence then asked, "Can you close for a day or two?"

Jackson shook his head. "No, too many people depend on me. The Mini-Mart closed last month so I'm the only grocery in town. Save-U-More by the highway is far enough out that it's inconvenient. Safeway in the next town over is next nearest. I'll call Mrs. Owens to come in. She likes a few hours a month, just for extra money." He leaned in, sharing secrets. "I really think she just likes the opportunity to be around people and catch up on the latest;" he winked. "I'll give her a jingle."

He made his call and was told that she'd be there in ten minutes. He walked out of the back office just in time to hear, "You mean you've never even touched the Winchester? That's just mean."

Gibbs' voice returned, "Nope, never touched it. But ... doesn't matter anymore. I'm over it."

Jackson Gibbs was a smart man and he heard the faint longing in his son's voice. The boy he had been was much too reckless to handle a gun, any gun. The man he was now deserved to handle the Winchester. He walked behind the counter and took the rifle off the wall. No one but he had handled the rifle since he'd bought the old .44-.40 when he was just a kid. Now, he proudly handed it to his son. "Maybe it's time you got to shoot it. We'll all go out to the VFW range tomorrow. How's that sound?"

Gibbs' smile told it all. "Sounds like a plan, Dad."

Jackson handed the Winchester to Gibbs. "Here. Check it out while I count the register. Only take a sec." He eyed Tony. "And you ... find something to fix for that plague of grasshoppers." He smiled at the group. "Timothy, go down to the Flour Sack and get a couple of loaves of some sort of bread that you'll all eat."

Tony yelled after Tim. "It's gonna be soup or stew."

Tim nodded. "Okay. Rustic loaves then."

Gibbs said, "I vote for soup."

An echo of, "Yeah, soup," from everyone else settled the question.

Tony got a three-pound bag of mixed carrots, peas, and corn, a bag of green beans, some onions, and some potatoes. "Jackson? You got beef stock on hand?"

Jackson went to show him where it was. He eyed the bags of frozen veggies and said, "That's a lot of greenery there."

"You haven't seen us eat. I'm making at least a gallon and hoping it's enough." Tony laughed at the expression on Jackson's face. "Yeah, we eat a lot."

Jackson allowed that he was sure they did. He pointed out the beef stock. Tony got six quarts. Jackson added a box of pearled barley to the pile and led Tony to the register. He dumped all the groceries on the counter and reached for his wallet. Jackson shook his head. "On me. You're my guests." He wrote the prices in a book and bagged everything.

Then they began the process of getting their jackets, helmets, and other gear back on for the trip to the Gibbs house. Jackson suggested Leroy ride with him in his car but Gibbs said, "Sorry, Dad, no can do. There's no one who can bring my motor." Jackson's significant glance at Tim made him admit, "He's just a passenger ... until we get him trained."

Jackson just shrugged and went to his car. Dean and Remy had already taken the groceries to the back seat. "Thanks, boys. I got it from here." Jackson got into his car and started it. The sound of the engine was drowned out by the rumble of the V-Twin Harley engines as they started, one by one. He shook his head fondly, remembering the week-long sulk that had resulted from his refusing Leroy permission to buy a dirt bike.

He waited until the motors all moved out, knowing the proper protocol of four wheels, eyes behind. He pulled out right behind the trike and followed the group to his house. He barely got his car parked before it was swarmed by men. Dean helped him out, Cosmo started handing off bags to Remy and Tony. Leroy, Tim, and Jimmy started getting luggage out of saddlebags.

He watched in amazement as he hadn't seen anything like it since his Air Force days. The group formed a bucket brigade and passed things from hand to hand, stacking luggage on the porch and grocery bags inside the front door.

Tony smiled at Jackson, he was still wearing the white sweater the older man had given him several years ago. In fact, it was one of his most prized possessions. "Hey, Jack, where are we all going to sleep? I need to make billet assignments."

Jackson eyed Tony for a moment then said, "There's a story here an' I wanna hear it. For now, I've got four bedrooms, aside from mine. One is Leroy's, that's the one with the full/twin combo, the other three are up for grabs. There's one with a king, the other two have twins. The couch in the back room makes up into a full size. Have at it."

The assignments weren't that hard; Gibbs got his old room, Tim and Jimmy shared one room, Cosmo and Dean the other. Tony got the room with the king and Remy took the back room with the fold-out. Jackson laughed when Remy realized that the couch was a full-size. The expression of bliss on his face was comical, until you realized that he was comparing the thing to a rack in Afghanistan.

His comment, "I really, truly hate hot-racking," made Jackson grimace.

"I know what you mean. I really hated trying to sleep in the bomb bay."

Gibbs chuckled. "Try sleeping under a troop carrier with snoring men inside."

Remy nodded. "True dat. Worst for me was a C130 with a bunch of civilian kids aboard. All they did was cry, run around, or scream."

Cosmo nodded. "I remember that. It was literally hell. Tony'd been captured; we had no idea where he was being held, so we were ordered back Stateside. Dean was in the brig for trying to punch some REMF, so it was just Remy and me. I was sick most of the way. No idea why, really. And there was poor Remy, nursing me, dodging kids and moms and some bean-counter second looey. No idea to this day what the hell he wanted. He just kept popping up and asking stupid questions."

Tony blinked. "Never heard this one. How'd you get rid of 'im?"

Remy looked smug and inordinately pleased. "Cosmo puked on him."

Jackson roared at that, laughing heartily. "Boy, that's one way to deal with it."

They visited a bit more then Gibbs said, "We better get to cookin'. I'm starved."

Remy just got up and asked, "Where's the biggest pot?"

Jackson pointed to the pantry. "In there, top shelf. And the spices are in there too. Flour, if you need that."

Remy returned with the pot and several bottles of spices. "Here we go. Who's on potato patrol?"

Tim held up his hand. "But not onions." There was some laughter at that. The last time Tim had done onions, his eyes had watered so badly that he'd had to stop to wipe them. The others had all given him a hard time, telling him real men _do_ cry and Dean had wrapped his arms around him and pretended to weep on his shoulder. Tim had smacked him and they'd gotten into a wrestling match that had seen them standing in corners―Gibbs' usual punishment for acting like six-year-olds.

Remy agreed, "No, not onions. We don't need you in a corner." This led to Jackson demanding to know what they were talking about.

Gibbs told the whole story while he emptied the stock into the pot.

Jackson laughed until tears streamed down his cheeks. "You boys take the cake." He eyed the group. "SEALs, ya say?" Nods greeted this question. "Well, I'll be."

Dean settled at the table, onions and knife in hand. Tim got a seat as well.

While they were peeling and chopping, Remy made roux, while Gibbs stirred the stockpot to keep it from scorching. Cosmo opened all the bagged frozen stuff and dumped it into the pot. As the potatoes and onions were done, they were added as well.

Remy tasted the stock and added salt, pepper, and herbs. He nodded, then let Tony, then Gibbs taste. They agreed that it was good. "I'll add roux when it's almost done. No sense in addin' it yet, it'll get too thick. Tim?"

Tim looked up from where he was wiping the table down. "Yeah?"

"Bread?"

Jimmy replied to that. "I put it in the oven while you all were doing soup. It should be done when the soup is. They were half-baked loaves, so it's going to be every bit of half an hour."

Remy opened the oven to take a look at the bread. "An' how, may I ask, did you get that in there without me noticing?"

Jimmy smirked, "You were washing your hands, and I just popped them in a cold oven."

"Did ya butter 'em?"

Jimmy shrugged. "No. I like the crust crunchy. If you butter the loaf, it gets tough."

They all agreed that crunchy was the way to go.

Remy eyed the oven. "Well, if you like crunch, you'd better spray them with some water."

Jimmy nodded then went to get a bowl of water. He flicked finger tips of water into the oven until it steamed then shut the door.

Gibbs had been tinkering with the old coffee-maker while Jimmy was correcting the bread situation. "Coffee in a few."

They then settled around the table for another round of tall tales and local gossip while they waited for the soup and bread to be ready.

Gibbs got up from time to time to stir the soup, check the bread, and make coffee. He was doing that when someone said something about some ChAir Force POG which drew his attention.

Jackson didn't bother to take offense. He just replied, "Now see here, you young snot," he smiled to take the sting out of that. "Just because the pilot overshot, doesn't mean it was his fault. Who was spotter? Some ground pounder, I'll bet. I heard it said, garbage in, garbage out. Got something to do with computers, but works for just about anything."

Remy allowed, "True, that. But still."

Dean snorted. "You know the spotter was Army. Dumb boots."

Cosmo agreed. "True. Navy and Air Force have more in common than Army and anyone. After all, ARMY stands for Air Force Rejected Me Yesterday."

Gibbs shuddered. "Only real TARFUN I was involved in ... true Charley Foxtrot. Army carried us in, dropped us, and left. We were over 10 klicks from where we were supposed to be, so we had to hike over, do ... what we were sent to do, and hike to pickup. The Air Force chopper jockey stayed way past orders to wait for us. We got there just as he was warming up to leave. He missed a court-martial by a hair's breadth because we all gave him a commendation for above and beyond. Hell of a thing." He shook his head in remembrance. "I think he's some sort of bigwig now."

Tony shrugged. "And where would we be without Naval Air Support? Really. There's nothing like expressing your dissatisfaction with someone with a nice strafing run."

Jackson agreed, saying, "In my day we'd just drop a couple of tons of HE on them."

Tim sighed. "Don't have much to do with the Army, except for CID. They can't all be stupid; we just wind up dealing with the worst of 'em. Right?"

They all agreed that not all of any service could be idiots; it just seemed that they'd dealt with more than their fair share due to one thing and another. There was a bit of grumbling over one imagined offense or another.

Jimmy changed the subject, easily directing the conversation into happier subjects. "I was wondering ... are we going to have enough ammo for the Winchester?"

Jackson thought about that. "I've got about 200 rounds, so ... probably not. You check on that soup and bread while I make a quick call. Max will open his store early, if I ask."

They could hear bits of the conversation. Jackson sounded proud when he'd said, "Friends of Leroy ... goin' shootin', then fishin'. ... Thanks, bye."

By the time Jackson was off the phone the soup was ready and the bread sliced and wrapped in warmed towels.

They settled to eat and Jackson told them, "Well, Max said to stop by about 7 a.m. You boys bring poles an' such?"

Gibbs made a rude noise. "That bunch? Doubt it."

Tony just snickered. "I'll just tickle 'em."

Remy shook his head. "Illegal here. Gotta use a pole. Which we did not bring."

Jackson blinked. "Tickle a fish? You mean hand fishin'? That is illegal around here."

Tony sighed. "Well, ruin all my fun." He grinned.

They finished their meal and cleaned up. Jackson said he'd do it and was flatly told that they were family, not guests, and would clean up after themselves. He gave up with a chuckle announcing, "Well, looks like I've inherited more family. Thanks, boys."

Gibbs laughed. "Welcome to the asylum, Dad. Come on, living room for us. I'm not gettin' in the way of SEALs on a mission. Not a good idea."

Jackson settled in his favorite chair and demanded. "Now, tell me why the hell you're takin' vacation. I wasn't sure I understood. You have to take vacation, or lose the days? They won't pay you for them?"

"That's about it. Vance seems to think we're too stressed, that and the budget won't handle the four of us getting paid for around 147 days of leave at our pay scale if we're still actually working too. And Tony ... I don't even want to think about him. He's collecting from the Navy as well as NCIS and he's on use-it-or-lose-it with both. So we're takin' a road trip." He thought for a moment. "Actually, I think it is a good idea. I need to reconnect with both Tony and Tim. Ziva ... she drove a wedge between us, without me even noticing. She's ... out of the picture, permanently. PTSD of the ragin' sort."

Jackson sighed. "That's too bad. I liked her. Maybe I should write? Or call?"

Gibbs considered that for a moment. "Might; send it care of her shrink. I'll get you the address in the morning." He eyed his watch. "Damn, didn't realize it was that late. It's nearly 2100."

Tony ambled in. "I'm gonna stay up a while. If I go to bed now, I'll be up at 0300. But I checked the fridge. There's not enough food for us. Jackson? There a market open this late?"

Jackson thought for a second. "If you don't mind driving, I'll give you directions to a 24/7 market. It's out a ways, near the highway. Take my car; that bike won't do." he pointed to the small table by the front door. "Keys are in the bowl."

Tony listened to the directions then went off to get enough food for the team for breakfast. He yelled over his shoulder. "Jet, ya think four dozen eggs?"

Gibbs yelled back. "Make it five, just in case."

Everyone else wandered through on their way to bed. Except Remy, who disappeared into the back room; the thumping and banging as he set up the pull-out told its own story.

.

Tony drove to the market. It wasn't that hard to find; just follow Main Street in the general direction of the highway, then look for the tall Save-U-More sign.

The market was generic Wal-mart or Safeway style, and clean. Tony was impressed. Most markets in this area were either Mom and Pop, like Jackson's, or Mini-mart type places; many of them filthy, as the teenagers that ran them seemed incapable of running a mop.

He wandered up and down the aisles, picking up such things as more potatoes and coffee, some onions, bacon and sausage and eggs. He considered pancake mix, but decided against it, as Jackson had all the ingredients for scratch.

He emptied his buggy onto the conveyor belt, then smiled at the older lady who was at the register.

She eyed the pile of food then him. "Hope you have a friend or two, that's a lot of food."

He smiled back, flirted just a bit and replied, "I do. my team and I are staying with Jackson Gibbs. We're all up, with his son, to visit a bit. Take care of a few things around his house and store, do a bit of fishing and target shooting. That sort of thing. I think we're planning on a couple of days at Ricketts Glen State Park National Park camp grounds and a hike."

She laughed. "Ol' Jackson goin' with you on that?"

"Doubt it. He'll go fishin' and have a shot or two on the range, but campin' and hikin'? Doubt that." Tony grinned. "I know he'll love breakfast. Pancakes, bacon, eggs, sausage, hash browns, toast. I forget anything?"

She nodded. "OJ and biscuits."

Tony frowned for a moment, murmuring, "Flour, baking powder, salt ... shortening? Blast." He looked up again. "I don't remember seeing any shortening. I'll have to run back for some."

Debby nodded. "Get Crisco, not the store brand."

Tony went back to get a can of Crisco; he took a look at the ingredients on the store brand and put it back. He returned to the front and put the can down. "There. Thanks for waiting."

Debby laughed. 'You see anyone else in here? Okay." She scanned the Crisco into the register, hit total, and gave Tony the amount.

He peeled some bills off the clip he kept in his pocket and accepted the bags. "Thanks."

He returned to the car and pulled out of the parking lot. He hadn't gone a block before he was pulled over by a sheriff's cruiser.

The officer got out and loud-hailed him, "Get out of the car. Keep your hands where I can see them." Now this caused a bit of a problem as, in order to open the door, Tony had to have one hand under the widow level.

What followed was just stupid, Tony would go for the door handle and the cop would yell, "Let me SEE your HANDS!" so Tony would show his hands. Then the idiot would yell, "GET out of the CAR!" so Tony would reach for the door handle. (2) They went through this routine a number of times. Finally, Tony yelled back, "I can't get out of the car if I can't open the damn door. And I can't open the door with both hands in the fucking air. Make up your damn mind."

The deputy, realizing that they were just going in circles, called the Sheriff.

The Sheriff showed up two minutes later, saw Jackson Gibbs' car with a stranger in it and took over. He walked up to the car and pulled the latch. "Okay, get out slow. Keep your hands where I can see them."

Tony sighed, "Okay, so how do I undo the seat belt?"

The Sheriff got a good look at Tony and grumbled, "Well, hell. You DiNozzo?"

"Yes." Tony hoped the Sheriff had gotten over his problem with Gibbs.

"Go very slow and unbuckle your belt. Get out and assume the position. Then we'll have a little talk about you, this car ... and my idiot deputy."

Tony kept one hand up while he reached down and popped the belt open. He let the retractor do all the work of moving the belt out of his way. After the belt was out of his way, he eased out of the car, hands still up. He stood up slowly.

The Sheriff eyed him then muttered, 'I don't remember you being this tall ... or this hard."

Tony looked down at him. "I was. Just hunched a bit and so on."

The Sheriff went to his cruiser to call dispatch. Meanwhile, Deputy Dowd decided SOP was 'cuff the perp'.

"Now, because it's procedure, I'm going to cuff you. Okay?"

Tony replied, "No, it's not okay. I don't want to be cuffed." He didn't resist, it was more like someone trying to take something from a small child who didn't want to give it up. Deputy Dowd made a grab for one of Tony's wrists. Tony pulled away, doing that weird shoulder shake that kids everywhere did.

This went on while the Sheriff spoke to Dispatch.

"No, just Anthony Dominic DiNozzo, Jr. See what you can come up with." He waited for a moment.

Dispatch came back with, "Well, I called Jackson. That young man is Leroy's 2IC, called a Senior Field Agent. He's also doing double duty as a Navy SEAL. He's a Lt. Cmd. No one seems to be able to tell me what team. I got a giant, red 'CLASSIFIED' when I ran that search. Jackson said he loaned his car so he could haul groceries. Seems both Leroy's NCIS team and Lt. Cmd. DiNozzo's SEAL team are visiting, rode in on motors. Think you might oughta let him be on his way?"

Sheriff Ed Gantry had learned his lesson when it came to Leroy Jethro Gibbs. He'd never tell how or why, but he would admit to doing some reading and soul-searching after what he referred to as Gibbs' homecoming. He turned just in time to see Dowd make another grab for Tony.

"What the hell is going on? Dowd! Christ, you're worthless as tits on a boar."

Tony stopped messing with the Deputy and stood still. He waited until the Sheriff was looking at him then said, "It's not okay if he handcuffs me. I don't want to."

Sheriff Gantry sighed, "Damn it, Dowd. Jackass." He turned to Tony and said, "Assume the position and no highjinks, understand?"

Tony winked and nodded. 'I understand." He turned around and put his hands on top of the cruiser.

The Sheriff patted him down efficiently, putting various things on top of the car then demanded, "Do you actually need all that hardware?"

"Yes, I've needed every bit of that at one time or another. That's just for NCIS. You should see what I carry on an op." Tony cooperated calmly.

"Okay, I'm going to cuff you now. Do you understand?"

"I do."

The sheriff barked at Dowd, "Now you see how you do it. Do not ask a perp if anything's okay. Ask 'em if they understand. Got me?"

Tony allowed himself to be cuffed then turned around and leaned on the car as Sheriff Gantry went to answer dispatch.

Deputy Dowd watched Tony to prevent any funny business.

Sheriff Gantry returned just in time to see Tony, still standing by the car, dangle the cuffs from his thumb.

"Need these back?"

He took the cuffs, stuffed them into his pocket and snorted. He eyed Dowd then shook his head. "I give up. Get back in the damn car and go home. Tell Leroy I'll call sometime. Go."

Tony went, laughing like a loon.

The sheriff turned to his deputy and snarled, "I don't know what they taught you in that fancy school you went to, but common sense wasn't one of them. You call the owner before the stop; just follow until you know what's what. Now I'm gonna have to apologize to one of our oldest and most respected residents." He returned to his car, grumbling all the way.

Deputy Dowd, for his part, resolved to listen to his older, more experienced training officer better. He actually wasn't even supposed to be out. He'd only been driving from the car wash back to the station. He was going to get a reaming he wouldn't forget soon. He also thought he'd be asked to apologize to Jackson Gibbs as well.

.

Tony was greeted at the door by a very concerned Jackson Gibbs. "You okay, Anthony?"

Tony handed bags of groceries to someone. "Yeah, I'm fine. You guys get the rest of the groceries out of the car." He jerked his head in the general direction of outside.

Dean and Cosmo went out to bring in the rest of the food. It didn't take them long to bring the stuff in and Remy and Tim got it put away in record time. Jackson watched with some amusement as the horseplay and name-calling reminded him of good times in the past.

Leroy ordered everyone back to bed, saying they'd get Tony's story in the morning.

As Tony was exhausted now, he went to bed too. Morning was going to come soon, and he knew they were going to want a good run.

No one heard him murmur, "Good-night, everyone."

.

Next morning was an oft-repeated scenario. Someone peeled potatoes, someone else chopped onions, which were all tossed into a frying pan. Eggs were scrambled, pancakes and biscuits made. Toast, bacon, and sausages were fried and piled on platters. Coffee, juice, and milk were poured in jugs, and condiments put out. It took twenty minutes to make enough food to feed everyone.

Jackson took his son's advice and stayed out of the way. "Leroy, I swear, I've never seen the like."

"Me neither. And every scrap will be eaten and someone will still want more. Do not get in the way of cleanup. I just cook, then get out of the way." Gibbs watched with approval as the combined team worked.

"Which ones live with you?" Jackson couldn't believe that his grumpy son had actually allowed someone to move in with him.

Gibbs pointed, "Remy, Dean, and Cosmo. Tim and Tony are living together in Tony's apartment since Tim got burned out. And Jimmy lives with Ducky. That's a relief to me; Ducky's still the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he's physically a bit ... fragile. He's ... no idea, really, just somewhere between older'n me an younger'n you."

Jackson nodded. "I see. I'm gettin' on, but I'm still capable. Got a lady that comes in to clean, and I take my laundry down to the automat. They do a good job and just put it in my trunk while I'm at the store. I'll admit I could use a bit more help here and there, but I'm doin' ok."

Gibbs eyed his Dad. "Listen to me. You need help, you call. I mean it. We don't have that many years left, and I don't intend we drift apart again. Hear me?"

"I do. You need to learn how to use that Skype thing. I'm older'n dirt, and I know how. We could video chat once in a while." Jackson gave his stubborn son a hard look.

"I know, Dad, I know. Tim is gonna teach me all that sort of thing while we're on leave." Gibbs realized that his Dad was getting old, not older; old, and he needed to keep in touch better. He worried more than he thought he would.

Jackson patted his son on the arm. "Don't worry. I have plenty of help. If I need you, I'll call; or someone else will. Now, I believe the boys have the food on the table. Let's eat."

They settled in around the big, farmhouse-style table and tucked in. Since Jackson was eldest and it was his house, they said grace, then Jackson took some of the nearest platter and passed it.

Dean took the platter and dumped about half of it on his plate. "Mmmm, bacon."

Cosmo took the platter and bitched, "Damn it, Dean, someone else might like some, ya know."

Jackson rapped his spoon on the table. "No profanity at my table please. And you, young man, put half that back. If you still want more after you finish that, we'll fry up some."

Dean eyed him for a moment then did as he was told. And the platter made its way around the table.

Remy grumbled, "Wish I'd made some gravy."

Cosmo agreed. "Could still. The pan's still got bacon grease in it."

Again, Jackson took charge. "Do not get up. Eat. If everyone's still hungry and there's still biscuits, we'll make gravy."

Tony nodded. "Good idea. If we make it in the sausage grease, there'll be some sausage bits in it." He stuffed a huge forkful of eggs into his mouth.

Tim's inherently good manners kept him out of trouble, but Dean and Jimmy got into a bit of a wrestling match over the last of the potatoes.

Jimmy picked up the bowl and started to empty it onto his plate, but Dean made a grab for it, exclaiming, 'Hey! Dibs!"

Jimmy pulled it away. "No dibs, Jet said."

Jackson started to say something but Tony beat him to it. "Da ... Shut it! Jimmy, share; what are you? Two?"

Jimmy flushed a bit then carefully divided the contents of the bowl between himself and Dean. "There. Satisfied?"

Tony said, with awful politeness, "I am. Thank you."

They finished eating what was on the table and decided that they didn't really need any more. A second pot of coffee was started, as they'd emptied the first in record time. Jackson started clearing the table and was told to sit until they started washing.

"I'm fine. Not that decrepit yet." He scowled at the tall man― Remy, he thought.

"I know that, but SOP is ... we wash and dry, homeowner puts away. That way everything is back where it belongs."

"Oh. Well, that does make sense," he nodded. "I'll sit while you all wash. We need to get moving. Max won't appreciate opening early, then we show after regular time."

Tim glanced at his watch. "It's 0645. I think the best idea might be for a couple of us to go with Jackson as fetch-an'-carry. The rest of us can clean the kitchen and make a list to stop by the grocery for lunch stuff. Jet?"

Gibbs nodded. "It's a plan. Dad and I'll go get the ammo and a few other things. Tony? Handle the rest."

Tony nodded. "But what about getting things back where they belong?"

Jackson handled that the easy way. "I'll show you. I expect you can remember." He then pointed to places in the cabinets that were empty and told them what went where.

The usual genial squabbling started and Gibbs took Jackson out of the way. "They'll bitch and moan and argue all through it. Come on."

Jackson, hearing Dean call Remy a whiny little bitch, just shook his head. "Reminds me of my Air Force days. Let's go get ammo."

.

Max nodded to his friend, "Jackson." He eyed Gibbs for a moment then said, "Leroy."

Gibbs nodded. "Max." He went in the door that Max held open for Jackson. "Thanks."

Jackson leaned on the counter. "How many boxes you think we need?"

Gibbs thought. "Probably at least one per."

Max blinked, "Per what?"

"Man. Got ... me, Dad, Jimmy, Tim, AJ, Remy, Cosmo, Dean. Better get ten."

Max sighed, "Okay. Winchester 1873 fires .44-.40's. Right?" Gibbs nodded. "I don't think I've got that many rounds. I'll go check." He walked into the back.

Jackson eyed his son. "You okay?"

"Yeah, Dad, just ... Max was always a pain in my ass. He was ... not an instigator, but he was always around, makin' snotty comments an' eggin' the rest on."

"Well, damn. I swear, I never realized how miserable you really were. Sorry." He frowned at nothing and everything.

"Dad, forget it. I left, got over it ... mostly. It's water under the bridge, over the dam, and into the ocean. We're here to have some fun." He grinned. "Poles. If we forget fishin' gear, we'll never hear the end of it."

Jackson nodded. "I'll look things over. Anyone have anything?" at Gibbs' head shake he started picking out poles. He decided on two tackle boxes full of gear and a pole per man. He had his own, but had to admit that his tackle box was decidedly empty. "Leroy? You got any tackle?"

"No. Haven't been fishin' since I took Shannon and Kelly. I gave my stuff to ... someone. Or one of my ex-wives tossed it." He settled against the counter more comfortably.

Max, deciding it was time he offered an olive branch, said, "I hear there are three?"

Gibbs nodded. "Yeah. Guess I'm just stupid."

Max shook his head. "More like blind stubborn. I'm workin' on my second. Looks like it's gonna last. Fifteen years in a week."

"Well, congratulations," Gibbs nodded.

"Thanks." He finished unloading his arms. "Got just enough .45-.40's for your order. I just got a re-stock."

Gibbs produced a credit card. "Put it all on this."

Max started ringing up as Jackson dumped the tackle boxes on the counter. "Leroy, come help with the poles."

"Okay, Dad. What did you pick?" Gibbs ambled after his father.

"I just figured out who was how tall and picked something in carbon fiber that I thought would suit." Jackson handed off a couple of poles. "How you payin'?"

"Credit card. I'll take the register slip and they'll pay me when the bill comes in." Gibbs wasn't worried about getting his money back, all the guys were really good about things like this. Tim would go over the register slips and bills and give everyone what he called an accounting. They paid ASAP, with appropriate bitching and grumbling.

After paying the tab, both Gibbses started carrying things out. Max helped, taking the opportunity to pull LJ, as he called Gibbs, to the side. "Look. I know you're really busy at whatever it is you do ... but I wish you'd be around a bit more."

Gibbs eyeballed his old tormentor then said, "He won't call. I get ... distracted. If he needs me, give me a call. Spread the word."

"Ok, that's all we can ask. What the hell is it you do, anyway?" Max really wanted to know.

So Gibbs gave him a run-down of what he did, ending, "So, I'm never out of touch. I'll leave my number with Sheriff Gantry. Oh, and you might want to spread the word not to mess with my people. Four of them are SEALs, and I'm not tellin' which ones."

Max blinked. "SEALs? Really?" He looked impressed.

"Really. And highly decorated too." Gibbs looked smugly proud.

"Oh, that's nice. You got any medals?" Max's expression said he was just curious.

Gibbs would deny any sort of one-upsmanship, but his smirked, "Medal of Honor," proved otherwise.

Max paled. "A wh-wh ... Medal of Honor?" He definitely squeaked.

"Look it up. Matter of public record. Although the details of the mission are still classified." He smirked again. "AJ calls it burn-before-reading, shoot-yourself-in-the-head-after." He then settled in the car to drive back to the house and finish getting ready to head for the park and fishing.

Jackson glanced at his son. "I heard that. You never say much about that medal and I always wondered why."

Gibbs, who _had_ never said much about it, replied, "I don't deserve it. Four men died, all friends of mine. Hurts."

"Ah. That's sad. But ... well, I'm proud of you, son. Never said it enough." He let the subject drop. "Now, how are we all going to get our stuff where we need it."

"Your old truck. We'll be takin' the motors. Damn, never thought. It still run?"

"It does." Jackson nodded once. "Just ... it could use an oil change."

Gibbs took the opportunity offered. "Okay. And make up a list of repairs that need doin'. We'll be around as long as it takes. Up to two weeks."

Jackson thought about that for a moment. "I just need the window frames and soffits painted. The store ... there's a squeaky plank right in front of the middle shelving unit. Everyone comes in the front, steps on it and it squeaks. Other than that? Car needs to be washed and truck needs an oil change."

"Done, done, and done. We'll figure out who does what tonight and be done in two days. We'll be in the area for another week, for sure. I'd like to get all the chores done quickly so we can spend a few days camping."

"Good. Thanks. Where you plannin' on camping?" Jackson realized that his son wasn't going to be staying at 'home' for three weeks. He figured, correctly, that all the men had something they wanted to do, so fair was fair.

Gibbs parked as close to the porch as he could get, driving over the unmown lawn and blocking the front stairs. Jackson scowled then said, "Add mow to the list. I hired Sonny Layrabe to do it but he's ... unreliable."

Gibbs asked, "You want me to have a word with him?"

Jackson shook his head. 'Don't bother. I already spoke to his mother, she's ... featherheaded, at best. I'll get Lulu Smith to do it."

Gibbs nodded at the name. "She's makin' a name for herself. Does good work."

"Bit expensive, but I'm done with hiring teenagers. Used to do it to give them a leg up but now ... can't rely on 'em. The good ones go off to college and the rest ..." he grunted his opinion of the rest and got out.

Gibbs got together with Tony and set up the poles with reels and quick snaps, then broke them down again. "There. We'll just grab a pole when the time comes, then trade around until everyone's happy. Keep an eye on Dad, okay? I noticed that he's gettin' a bit wobbly on his feet."

Tony agreed. "I'll spread the word. Wouldn't hurt to have Doc do an assessment on the sly."

"Good idea. I'll have a word with him. But ... everyone in town keeps an eye on the old folks. It's a community tradition from way back. I'll leave my number with the Sheriff in case of an emergency."

Tony just said, "Give him mine too. Just in case."

Gibbs nodded. "Thanks, AJ." He made a call to the sheriff's office on Jackson's phone and left his number and Tony's as emergency contacts. He then wrote them on the contact sheet next to the phone. It was actually fairly full of names and numbers. He decided to get Tim to put them all in his phone.

Tim took one look at the list and grumbled, "Well, I'm glad I got that new app. All I have to do is take a picture of each name and number and the app will convert it into a phonebook entry. It'll take a bit of time but I'll do it right now."

While Tim was doing that, Tony hunted Jimmy up and gave him the lowdown on what they wanted.

Jimmy was willing and had already done part of the work. He told Tony about his findings. "Jackson is in really good shape for his age. Mind is sharp. He's a lot like Ducky. The only problem he's having right now, as far as I can tell from casual observation, is a bit of minor muscle weakness and a slight balance problem. Not unusual for a man his age."

Tony sighed. "In other words, he's just old."

Jimmy nodded. "Exactly. I'll watch him for several indicators of problems, but I don't expect to see anything."

Gibbs, who was standing right behind Jimmy, startled him by saying, "Thanks, Doc Gremlin, I really appreciate that."

Jimmy jumped a foot and yelped. "Sunny Beaches. Jet, scare me out of my skin!"

"Okay." Gibbs smirked at his friend. "We need to be on the move."

They went out onto the porch. Gibbs nodded in the direction of the motorcycles. "Wanna ride with me, Dad?"

Jackson gave that all the consideration it deserved: he laughed. "No thanks. No way are you getting these old bones on one of those things. I'll just drive my truck."

Meanwhile, Tony and the others were making sure everything in Jackson's truck was tied down and covered properly. None of this dump-everything-in-the-bed-and-hope-for-the-best stuff for them.

Tony had talked to all the others and they'd agreed that they would leave the poles here, as they were going to make a habit of coming up for fishing trips on a regular basis.

So they left with a grumble and a rumble—Jackson's truck had a leaking exhaust system.

.

They arrived at the park and looked for empty slots to park in. They were lucky enough to get places in the Lake Rose parking lot. The ranger said it filled up quickly during peak times, but they were at the end of the season, so they could take as many spots as they wanted.

Jackson was delighted; he loved this park and had fished here many times. He had to say, "I used to take the Falls Walk but ... these old legs just won't do it anymore. Too bad. But, if you boys want to take it, I'll just fish." He smiled a bit sadly.

Tony suggested renting a remuda and riding the trail. Jackson admitted that it was a good idea but wasn't sure it would be allowed. Most parks didn't allow horses and hikers on the same trails.

Dean shrugged, "We'll just rent one then. Jackson can ride and we'll hike. If we promise to clean up after the horse, I bet we can get away with it."

Gibbs just trotted off to see what he could arrange. It turned out that the park did allow horses on all the trails, with certain restrictions, which they met. The man at the rental [hack stable] explained that only the handicapped or elderly were allowed to ride on all trails.

Gibbs chuckled, "It's for my Dad. He's ... eighty-something. I think this is going to be his last rodeo, so I'd like to get him around the Falls Trail one last time. If you'll give me a garbage bag and a shovel, I'll make sure to pick up the ... horse apples." He grinned at the desk man.

"Don't bother, just kick 'em off the trail. I'll send you with Ben. He's good-natured and a bit on the older side. Plenty of endurance, but not inclined to take off." He filled out the paperwork and had Gibbs sign in the appropriate places.

Ben turned out to be a quarterhorse with a calm disposition and good nature. Gibbs rubbed his nose and Ben lipped his palm, looking for a treat. The stablehand who'd saddled Ben for Gibbs handed over some bits of carrot which Gibbs dutifully fed the horse.

He mounted and rode Ben back to the campground just a few feet from the parking lot.

While he was gone the others had gotten side-by-side lots in the tent area. Jackson had said he wasn't going to camp, but Tony had persuaded him to think again. Especially as they had one inflatable mattress which Tony admitted he'd stuffed in just for Jackson.

The elder Gibbs was seated in a folding chair, giving directions to a smiling Tim. Tim had volunteered to set up Jackson's bed for him and was finding the old man's recollections of WWII most interesting.

Jackson, for his part, was delighted. Most people had heard his stories several times, and, while they didn't object, he was reluctant to 'wear out his welcome'.

He was recounting a story about the time a tailgunner saw something odd and thrown them all into a tizzy. They'd spent three days going over the plane with the entire crew convinced that a gremlin had jinxed them. At last they'd realized that he'd seen the reflection of a pelican in the polished skin of the plane. He ended his story by saying, "so there we were, at attention while some new Jonny chewed us out. But, we got our evens in the end. Turns out he got air sick. Puked his way across half of Europe." He chuckled at the memory.

Dean shook his head. "Highly edumacated idjits. Swear they're worse than no officers at all."

Cosmo nodded wisely. "Not all of 'em are like our AJ. He came up through the ranks, worked hard, took his classes like a man."

Tony snickered. "Still takin' classes. I think I'll wind up a perennial student."

Jackson jumped a bit as a voice from behind him said, "Online or in a classroom?"

He jumped then demanded, "Leroy, you tryin' to give me a heart attack?"

Gibbs smirked then apologized, "Sorry, Dad. Thought you'd ha' heard the horse."

Jackson got up to make friends with Ben, feeding him some of the carrot bits Gibbs had saved for the purpose.

When he realized that he was actually going to get one more trip up Falls Trail, Jackson was delighted. "Well, that's great. I'm gettin' too old for all that hikin'. Fishin's good around here. But the best streams are off that way." He waved an arm in the general direction of the more desirable and distant areas. "We could bring the poles?"

Remy agreed, "We sure can. I'll carry 'em. We'll set 'em up for trout?"

"Could do." Cosmo started rummaging in the tackle box for the proper gear. Tim moved to help him, and they soon had everything stuffed into various pockets on their packs.

There was a lot of laugher, rude comments, and general horseplay as they got ready to head up the trail. Jackson was really astonished when they all donned rucks. "What in the Sam Hill are you gonna do with all that?"

Tony shrugged. "Never know what you might need. I take my girlfriend everywhere in upcountry. I think this counts."

Gibbs agreed. "Me too. I've never been up a trail that I didn't need something in the bag I left behind."

Cosmo nodded, "So true. AJ, remember that time we were in ... hell, I don't remember but somewhere dry and dusty. Anywho, we were out in the middle of fuckin' nowhere an' runnin' out of water quick. We found a sippy spring and that's when we found that no one had a straw."

Dean groaned in remembrance. "So we drank out of the thing and all wound up with the GI's. I've got two now. One in a pocket and one in my pack."

Jackson blinked for a moment then demanded, "What the hell is a straw, because I know you don't mean one of those plastic things you stick in a can of pop."

Remy pulled one out of a pocket and showed it to him. "It's a purifier built into a straw. You can drink out of almost any contaminated water source without getting sick." Jimmy nodded and waggled his in the air. Tim just smirked, he had several.

Jackson examined the straw with interest. "Some of this newfangled stuff is something else." He started to hand it back but Remy said he had a couple more and Jackson should have it.

After a bit more messing around, they started up the trail. Jackson knew the name of every fall, how tall it was, and some general geology of the area. He enjoyed telling the younger men, as they seemed really interested and asked intelligent questions. Especially Jimmy, who seemed to know a little bit about nearly everything. Tim commented that he was never playing Trivial Pursuits with him.

They finally reached the fork that took them to the fishing area; they paused as Jackson told them. "Well, here's a decision point. Do you want to finish seeing the falls? or head for the fishing?"

Tony glanced around. "We'll take the other fork back. That way we can see the rest of the falls. I just hope we get enough fish."

Gibbs figured in his head. "If we all get our limit and they're good-sized, we'll be ok. If not, whoever doesn't get their limit gets what they caught; they can fill up on MRE's."

Jackson replied, "Now that's fair, but I feel for anyone who doesn't fill their limit. GI issue is not that good. I remember."

Gibbs chuckled. "You remember K- and C-rations. MRE's are nothing like that."

Jackson snorted. "Seein's believin'." He flinched a bit as Dean hopped up behind him, dumping his pack on a loudly complaining Tony.

"No, dude, you did not just dumb forty fuckin' pounds of shit on me." He grumbled some more as he wrestled the pack piggyback on top of his own. Jimmy kindly helped him, avoiding his attempt to dump the thing on him instead.

While he was bitching, Dean was opening an MRE so that Jackson could see what was in it. He muttered, "Ok, let's see ... yum, beef stew ... mashed potatoes ... crackers and peanut butter ... cookies ... skittles ... instant coffee, tea, and, cocoa. Lucked out there. Sometimes you get that gross Gatorade shit. Salt, pepper, Tabasco. Heating tab. And the accessories ... in this case ... gum, toilet paper, spork, wet wipe ... that's it." As he was talking, he handed Jackson the packages.

Jackson juggled the mess until Remy just reached up and took most of it. "Le'me have that mess." He took the master pouch from Dean and started shoving everything back into it. "Idjit, he can't juggle all that mess. What's wrong with you?"

Dean snatched the pouch and stuffed the rest of its content back into it. "Not. You're just a nit-picky asshat." He patted Jackson on the shoulder then dismounted and reclaimed his pack from Tony. "Thanks."

Dean managed to keep up his sulk for a whole twenty feet; then Cosmo smacked him on the ass and called him a whiny little bitch.

"Am not." Dean shoved Cosmo, who bumped into Remy.

"Are too." Cosmo recovered and shoved Dean right into Tim.

"Am not." Tim shoved Dean back.

"Are too."

Tony snarled, "You're both gonna win a smack if you don't stop that. You're gonna scare the fish. And piss me off. Mats, both of you."

Jackson gentled Ben, patting his neck. "If you two don't settle down ..."

Gibbs just barked, "Stick a sock in it."

Both men settled at once. Remy eyed them up then muttered, "You two ... like kids."

Jackson agreed. "Act just like the Sims brothers. Fought like dog and cat, but anyone messed with one, they had both of 'em on their hands." He eyed Dean and Cosmo fondly. "You two settle down before someone gets hurt."

Dean sighed and poked Cosmo in the shoulder; they said, "Yes, sir. Sorry," at the same time.

Jackson smiled at them and said, "Bread n' butter."

This caught everyone's attention and led to Jackson explaining the old superstition that saying the same thing at the same time was bad luck, only dispelled by someone in the group saying, 'Bread n' butter.' By the time he was done with this, they were at the place in the stream that was supposed to be the best fishing in the park.

Gibbs took the bridle off Ben and loosened the girth. He had been told that Ben took a ground tie without complaint, but he decided to stake him just to be on the safe side. It didn't take long to hand out the poles and ready them for use.

Jackson admitted that he was only going to be able to fish for a little while before he wore out. He settled himself to stand on the bank and cast out. The others all picked what they considered suitable places and began to fish.

Tony caught the first fish, Gibbs, ready with a net, scooped it up and had it on a stringer in seconds. Jackson caught the next one and netted it himself. He did allow Cosmo to put the slippery creature on the string for him.

They continued to fish for over two hours; then they were politely approached by a ranger.

"Excuse me. Hello." He actually flinched as eight heads turned nearly as one. Even the oldest had a laser-like gaze. He felt pinned in place for a second.

Tony realized that they'd put the ranger off so he ambled over. "Hello yourself ...Ranger Davis. Can I help you?"

"Um ... yes. I need to see all your permits, fishing and so on. Also ... horse?" He wasn't sure what to ask as the fishing area was just off the bridle trail.

Jackson replied to that. "I'm a bit old to be tramping around in these hills anymore. Leroy got permission for my ride," he smiled easily.

Ranger Davis eyed him for a moment, realized that it was true, and limited himself to the comment, "Okay. If he decides to take a dump, please kick the ... um ... off the trail."

Dean just said, "Horse apples."

The ranger eyed him for a moment, obviously trying to decide if that was an informational comment or smart-ass remark. He blinked, then returned to business as Gibbs had collected ID's, fishing licenses, and permits from everyone. He just shoved them in Davis' general direction and expected him to grab them, which he did. He examined the ID's quickly, then went on to the licenses and permits. He finally handed them all back. "Well, everything's in order. I also need to check your catch."

Jackson took the opportunity to get someone to put out his chair; he was beginning to feel a bit weak in the legs. "Here, Jimmy, set up that chair, will you? I'm gettin' tired."

Jimmy quickly unfolded the camp chair from his pack and put it out. "There you go. Need a drink?"

Jackson shook his head. "No, thank you." He settled easily, grumbling softly, "Hell, gettin' old. Don't like the alternative at all."

Jimmy grinned at him. "True, true."

Ranger Davis checked the fish by eye, then measured a couple. "Very nice. I hope you realize that you're really supposed to have a stringer each. But, since your catch, divided by the number of people is still short at least five fish, I'm going to let it slide." He grinned. "It's a real pain to keep track of eight or nine stringers. He settled in for a bit of a chat. "So, what's NCIS?"

Gibbs eyeballed Tony who came to the rescue easily. Gibbs was not a chatty sort and resented idle chatter when he had something to do. He returned to fishing, wading out knee deep and casting.

Tony eyed him for a moment then shrugged, "Excuse the functional mute." He went on to explain about NCIS.

Ranger Davis nodded. "I see. So ... the IDs stated that four of you are Navy, three NCIS. So what do you do?"

Jimmy joined the conversation as he'd caught his limit. "I'm a Medical Examiner's Assistant. I do the ... odd jobs. Weighing stuff, measuring organs, sewing up. That sort of thing. Oh, and I clean."

Ranger Davis blinked for a moment. "Oh ... that's ... different?"

Jimmy smiled shyly. "You wouldn't believe the things you can learn from the weight and texture of a liver."

Ranger Davis shrugged. "Learn a lot from stomach contents. Like where a bear has been, what he's been doing that he shouldn't. Health. Yeah, you can learn a lot from organs."

Tony grimaced and changed the subject. "I'm Senior Field Agent." At Davis' puzzled expression he explained further. "I'm Gibbs 2IC. Tim..." he pointed at Tim, who noticed and waved back. "He's our tech. You need something electronic done, he's your man. You pair him with Abby, and they can hack a password in seconds. Needs to be done more than you'd expect. Computer Forensics. No idea. Seriously."

Jimmy nodded. "There's more to detective work than just questioning perps and that."

"There is," Tony nodded, absently checking on everyone.

Dean and Cosmo were still fishing; Jimmy was right beside him; Gibbs was a bit farther out than before, nearly waist deep in the cold water. He groaned as he didn't see Tim or Remy. Jackson also looked for them.

"Where in the dickens are Remy and Tim? Haven't seen them for a bit."

Tony groaned. "Holy fuckin' shit. If those two lugnuts startle Gibbs, someone's gonna get hurt. Mats. Both of 'em. I swear." He started off to look for his two missing teammates.

Ranger Davis turned to Jimmy for an explanation. "Oh! Yeah. They're nuts. SEALs. And Gibbs is a Marine, retired. They're always tryin' to sneak up on him." He looked around. "I don't see them. Wonder what the ..."

Just then Remy surged out of the water in front of Gibbs with a rebel yell that echoed around the clearing. Gibbs just eyed him for a second then squatted, grabbed his legs and jerked, dumping Remy back into the stream. "Saw your shadow. Idjit."

Remy re-emerged from the stream, spluttering indignantly. "Damn it, Jet."

"Ya. Where's Tim?" Gibbs smirked, plunged his hand into the stream and dragged Tim up. "Oh! Here he is." Gibbs gave Tim a shake. "Good try. Big fail." Gibbs pushed Tim into Remy, who grabbed him. They both floundered and flailed before falling into the stream again. "While you're down there, find my pole. I dropped it in all the ... excitement." Gibbs' dry delivery made everyone laugh. "That's right, yuck it up." he tripped Tim just as he was getting up. "Pole."

Tim gave up. "Okay, okay. Stop that." He dove down to find Gibbs' pole, helped by Remy, who held him down with a foot on his butt. Tim found the pole and brandished it in the air; Remy thoughtfully removed his foot, and Tim stood up. He offered the pole to Gibbs, who took it, remarking, "Might as well give it up, since you've scared the fish into the next state."

They waded out, soaked and chilled.

While they'd been messing around, Jackson had wisely started a small fire. It wasn't much, but it was enough to dry clothing and warm the two chilled men.

Ranger Davis decided that retreat was the wisest choice and took his leave, calling, "Everything's in order; I better get back to work. Have a nice day." He trotted off over a hill and out of sight.

Jackson couldn't contain himself any more. "What the hell were you two thinking? That water's cold as ice. You'll take your death of foolishness," he continued to scold as Gibbs, Tim, and Remy stripped down to their shorts. Gibbs took all their clothing and wrung it out, handing it off to Remy, who draped it over nearby bushes to dry.

Jimmy had scooped up a pot of water and put it on the fire to boil. "I'll make some tea for all of us. Bags?" He didn't even flinch when Dean reached over his shoulder to give him several.

Cosmo just wrapped each of his friends in a survival blanket. "Idiots. You'll all be on the mats with AJ if you don't watch out."

Remy moaned, "Oh, no. Mats, just no."

Tim shook his head. "You know, if AJ says mats, mats it is."

Jackson had already had an explanation of going on the mats with AJ. He offered, "Better settle down then. Don't fancy any more bitching and moaning than necessary." He then handed a knife off to Dean. "Better clean those fish."

Dean eyed the flimsy knife with obvious disfavor. "No, thanks. I have my own." He pulled his knife out of his boot and went to get the string of fish. Cosmo joined him. As they had drawn straws for cleaning before they started fishing there were no complaints. They'd get first choice when the fish were done.

The minute Remy and Tim were dry, Gibbs had them get dressed in their still-damp clothing and start policing the area. Tony only crossed his arms over his chest and glowered when they shot pleading glances his way. Gibbs, for his part, settled by the fire to get completely dry and warm, while he waited for his clothing to be dry. He was not finishing several miles of trail in wet pants. Boots, he realized, were another thing. But everyone had wet boots from wading out to fish.

Tony gave it another few minutes then politely asked Jackson, "You ready to mount up? We need to move out in ..." he looked at the sky. "twenty. Don't want to be on the trails at dusk, and sundown and dusk are two very different things in these mountains."

Jackson scrambled a bit, then gained his feet. "Right you are. And we don't want to miss any of the falls on the way back, they're the best ones. Not all of them are the tallest but they are pretty."

Gibbs was amused to see all the SEALs scrambling to help his father back on Ben and comfortable. Tony sidled up to him. "Guys like your Dad. He's a handful."

"He is. Stubborn as a mule." Gibbs smiled fondly.

"Yeah, you didn't suck it out o' your thumb." Tony took off before Gibbs could swat him.

The trip back down was just as much fun as the trip up. Again they took their time; they stopped a few times to put the fish back in the stream to keep them cool. Tony took the opportunity to do a few sketches.

Gibbs leaned over his shoulder and commented, "That's really good. I never thought you were more than a ... crime scene kinda guy."

Tony shrugged. "Works for SEAL ops too. No chance of a lens flash giving me away. And I use a tool I made out of cardboard for establishing perspective and distances."

Gibbs watched a bit, then wandered off to keep Remy and Dean from doing something stupid. "No, you can't climb that cliff. No gear." He hauled Dean off the cliff face, slick with moss from the spray. "You fall and Tony'll kill me."

Remy grumbled, "Spoilsport. Damn gyrene."

"Kiss it, LeBeau." Gibbs got hold of his belt and dragged both men back to the group.

Tony glanced up, sighed and put his work away. He was almost done and could finish later. "What stupidity did you save them from now?"

Gibbs bopped Dean on the shoulder. "Those two were going to climb the cliff face next to the falls."

Tony shook his head. "No equipment, wet rock, waterfall. What part of stupid didn't you two get?"

Dean whined, "But, AJ, we climb stuff all the time. So it's wet."

Tony eyed him up then hairy-eyeballed Remy. "Mats. Really. Grown men and you act like ... I don't know what."

Jimmy poked Tim and held out a hand. Tim grumbled, "I'll owe you."

Cosmo opened his big mouth and stuck his number ten right in it. "Well, 'scuse you. Not like you don't get crazy from time to time."

Tony turned, eyed Cosmo with that calm, cold expression that made them all cringe. "I do, yes, I do. But I play pranks, harmless ones; I do not try to kill myself by climbing moss-slick, spray-wet rocks. Especially when there's a fucking sign right there ..." he pointed to the sign. "One that says, and I quote ... 'No climbing.'"

Cosmo sighed. "Sorry, AJ, just ... never mind." He gave his CO a hopeful look. "No mats?"

Tony thought for a moment. "No, no mats ... this time. But watch that attitude. 'Kay?"

"Okay. Um ... AJ?" Cosmo ducked his head like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "We good?"

"We're good." He turned to Remy and Dean. "As for you two ... mats. Or rather, ground. Tonight after chow."

Remy just sighed while Dean moaned and grumbled a bit; a sharp look from Gibbs shut him up.

Everyone clowned around, but when they went too far Tony stomped on it quickly. Gibbs shook his head. "Let's get on the way. We've messed around enough for the day. Dad?"

Jackson, who'd stayed out of the mess, just said, "I'm fine. We need to move out, I'm ready. I think Ben would appreciate his stall about now."

Tim just shouldered his pack and took off with Jimmy on his heels. He knew that Tony wasn't really mad and that they were all good, but the distraction of a quick march was just what they needed to finish smoothing things over.

Jackson took the opportunity offered by Tony pacing Ben to offer some advice. "Don't be too hard on them. They're still young and indestructible."

Tony grinned up at him. "I know. It's part of my job to keep them from killing themselves doing stupid stuff like that. It's all good." He thought for a moment then said, "You think we've got enough fish?"

Jackson considered carefully. "Well, I'll only eat a couple, and I planned on makin' skillet bread, so that'll help. Yeah, I think we've got plenty."

Tony sighed. "Good. I hate the thought of having to fill someone up with MREs, we eat enough of that crap as it is."

Jackson soon realized that Ben was capable of a gait called the Tennessee Walk, which isn't really a walk. It was somewhere between a trot and a canter, sometimes referred to as a rack. It was also referred to as the paso largo. It was a smooth, even motion that Ben could keep up for quite some time; it was also very easy on the rider. This meant he could keep up with the group without having his ass pounded to paste.

The team made good time and finished an hour hike in less than ten minutes. They didn't even miss anything as the climbing attempt had been made on the last fall on the trail.

.

When they were finally back at camp, they discovered that their tents had been moved along with their gear; their motors had also been moved. This was obvious, as everything except Jackson's truck was gone. There was a note on the windshield telling them that everything was down at the Lake Jean campground. This did not make anyone happy. They were about to make an unholy stink when a ranger hurried over.

"Hi. I'm sorry we had to move your stuff, and we need you to move that truck too. We've got a washout under the parking lot up here and the company who is fixing it decided to move the job up the queue. We moved what we could .. I know it's a bit unorthodox, but they've already started." He looked hot and harassed.

Tony just took the keys from Jackson and said, "I'll move the truck. Why don't you take Ben back to the stables. They're just across the road from the station, right? Save your feet and us a few steps. Okay?"

The ranger looked relieved and accepted Ben's reins happily.

Tony trotted off to get Jackson's truck while the rest of the team went down to repitch the tents, check the bedding, and cut firewood for the night. This camp was actually better, as they'd been moved from the tent ground to an empty trailer spot near the lake.

Tony got in, started the old truck, and picked Jackson up from their old spot. He drove the long way around to bring the truck to the new camping spot, cruising the road slowly, as he wasn't quite sure exactly where the new spot was. Jackson was just glad to be riding instead of walking.

"These old bones aren't going to like sleeping on the ground, no matter that nice mattress you brought. I'm not lookin' forward to gettin' up in the morning. Stiff isn't the word," he sighed.

Tony grimaced. "Sorry. But ..." he pulled his cell out of his pocket, speed dialed Gibbs and waited. "Gibbs. Look around. Any empty cabins?"

Gibbs looked, saw that three were empty and told Tony that. "We gonna rent?"

"Gibbs, your Dad isn't liking the idea of waking up on cold ground, mattress or no. I think we ought to get one for him at least." Tony waited while Gibbs found the number on the one closest to their new spot.

When he got it, Tony said that he'd just stop at the Office and rent it. It didn't take long before Tony had the key and a handful of brochures. He also had sheets, blankets, a pillow and instructions to return all the linens when they left.

"You didn't have to pay. I can afford it."

Tony snorted. "Can it. You're the closest thing I've got to a grandfather. Both of mine died before I was in my teens. Father? He's a waste of space. I still have that sweater you gave me."

"Well, imagine that. That ol' thing? You're welcome to it. Glad you like it. And thanks for the cabin. My bones will appreciate it in the morning. That place have a kitchen?" Jackson was imagining the things he could make for breakfast if he had a kitchen.

Tony grinned, knowing quite well what he had in mind. "It does."

They found the camp and joined the group around the fire for a moment. Tony announced, "I rented Jackson a cabin; it has one full sized bed." He grinned, "And a kitchen. Someone go make up the bed."

Remy jumped up first. He wasn't sucking up; he really liked Jackson and liked doing things for him. "I'll do it." He grabbed the linens and hurried off to deal.

While he was making up the bed and turning on the heat, the rest of the group started supper. The fish had been cleaned, but they washed them again. Gibbs started frying up some bacon to grease the skillet for the bread Jackson had promised. They also had potatoes to bake in the Dutch oven. Dean started working on the fish, which they were going to bake over the coals on a grill provided by the grounds.

"You want dill? Or not?" Dean eyed the fish with relish. The vote was dill so he put salt, pepper and dill inside each one. Then he put half a slice of bacon in as well. He wasn't a bit surprised to see that Cosmo was wrapping each fish in foil as he finished with it.

Jackson had mixed his bread while Gibbs was frying up the bacon. "Here, Dad, want me to crumble the bacon?"

"Yes, please. I'll have the dough done in a second. You can knead the bits in for me while I check the temp of the coals." He wiped his hands on a paper towel and tossed it into the fire. He held a hand over the bed of coals and nodded. "Coals are good."

While Jackson was checking the fire, Gibbs pinched off bits of dough and made balls of them; he put the balls into the skillet, then put the lid on it. "There we go. All ready." He carried the skillet over to the coals and set it down next to the Dutch oven. "That should all be ready at about the same time."

They sat around, drinking beer or soda and telling stories. Tony actually started it out by saying, "You know the difference between a Northern Fairy Tale and a Southern Fairy Tale?"

Gibbs laughed and said, "No. Why don't you tell us?"

Tony grinned then said, "A Northern Fairy Tale starts with 'Once Upon A Time,' and

a Southern Fairy Tale starts with 'Y'all ain't gonna believe this shit.'"

They all laughed heartily at that; then Gibbs added, " And a Military Fairy Tale starts out: 'No shit, there we were...'"

Dean nodded. "It do, it surely do. So ... No shit, there we were ... in the middle of fuckin' nowhere, Afghanistan. It was hotter'n a fresh fucked fox in a forest fire an' we were out of water, food, ammo, and patience. The pickup was three days late, so we decided it was a total FUBAR and to hike it out. I got HQ on the horn, and they said that pickup had been there, waited twelve hours, and we hadn't shown. Now ex-squeeze me, but we were where we were supposed to be and I proved it. Turns out that some greenie had transposed two damn numbers in the co-ordinates, and they were miles off. Clear over in Pakistan ... or Kazakstan or one of those 'stans' in the area. The idiot squid on the other end said someone was in the area, and we should stay where we were and pickup would be there in a couple of hours. We decided to wait exactly that, then start out. Never could understand why some HQ POG's can't get it right. Anyway, here comes a troop carrier roaring up in a cloud of dust and sand. Pops open and AJ's yellin' 'Hey, someone call a cab?' Never so glad to see an officer in my life. Made it back in one piece and AJ just wandered away, yellin', "You guys need a CO? Come with me, if you do." Now, that jerk-off who was our commander had gotten his Annapolis ass shot to hell and gone on that op, so we did. Cosmo and I just followed him off and been followin' his dumb ass ever since."

Gibbs laughed along with the rest then said, "Here's one." He proceeded to tell a story about a donkey, a general, and a new recruit that had them all rolling.

They checked the food from time to time and Tony finally declared the food done. They all lined up with their mess kits, bought at a military surplus, and each took a fish, some bread, and a potato. They settled in to eat with a hearty appetite. Jackson's bread went over very well, the potatoes were soft and mealy, the fish tender and juicy. It wasn't long before it was all gone and Remy, Tim, and Jimmy were sniffing around for more.

Tim eyed the last of the fish on his plate with a mournful gaze. "Man, this is so good. I know I'm full but I wish there was more." He finished the last of his fish and flopped back with a groan.

Jimmy nodded his agreement, announcing, "I've had just enough, but it smells wonderful." He groaned too as he got up. "Okay, KP for me. Plates?" Those who were finished handed over their plates for washing.

While Jimmy and Tim were washing, the rest of the group started off on another round of stories.

Finally Jackson announced, "I don't know about you young squids, but I'm tired. Good night." They all wished him good night and went back to their stories, watching carefully to see that he got to the cabin.

Tim was next up for a second story. "Okay. I was at MIT, sixteen years old. Everyone picked on me and I couldn't do much to defend myself. Too young, too small, too ... everything. Only, they forgot, I'm a computer geek. MIT was one of the first schools to have people send in assignments via email. Every single asshole that bothered me didn't turn in a single assignment on time that semester. Word got around and they left me alone," he smirked. "To this day they don't know how I did it. The professors offered me extra credit, all sorts of stuff if I'd just tell 'em. None of them could figure out how I did it."

Tony thought about it for a moment then asked, "How hard was it to gain access to their machines?"

"None of them even locked their dorm doors," Tim grinned. "Never touched the mainframe. Just reset some clocks, overclocked this and that, and ... voilà ... each one had a different problem, but they all either lost their assignments when they tried to attach them, or they were late. Or early, which looked even more suspicious."

Cosmo nodded then said sagely. "Never piss off a computer jock. Not good in a very bad way. You know what they say about the quiet ones."

Gibbs agreed, "Right. The louder they are, the less they'll do. The quiet ones will have you waking up in hell wondering what the fuck happened." He eyed his beer bottle suspiciously. "Um ... this is my last. It's empty, an' I don't remember finishing it off. Someone fucking with me? Or what?"

Remy did the same then announced. "I'm for bed. That bottle snuck up on me. Night."

They all decided that it was last call and went off to their tents.

Tony kindly let Remy and Dean think he'd forgotten about taking them on the mats; he'd had one too many beers and so had they. The idea was to make them think before doing stupid shit, not break something.

.

[That's High Explosives; the American Air Force used a lot of that in WWII: carpet-bombing from B17s and B24s; not high-precision, but high-saturation work. Lots of collateral damage.]

(2) I've actually seen this. It's crazy.


	4. Chapter 4

. Chapter Four .

Jackson woke at dawn and got up, took care of his personal business and started cooking. He liked cooking for his boys, all of them. He decided on pancakes, sausages, eggs, hash browns and toast. He wasn't that startled when his son wandered in demanding coffee.

"Leroy, I swear, you're something else. There," he pointed at the electric percolator.

Gibbs helped himself to a mug then started making toast, putting it in the oven to keep warm. He also kept up with Jackson's output of pancakes, putting them on a platter in the oven as well.

They visited while they worked and breakfast was almost done when Tony ambled in, hair still wet. He was shivering slightly and took the coffee Gibbs offered with a mumble. He settled at the table and stuck his nose in the mug.

"Lake cold?" Gibbs had decided to forgo the morning's exercise in favor of time with his Dad.

"Motherfucker's like ice." Tony sighed when Jackson took the time to drape a blanket over his shoulders. "Thanks."

Dean came in next, just as cold as Tony. Again, Gibbs handed over coffee while Jackson got another blanket. Dean just sighed as it was wrapped around him. "Man, that feels good."

Tim and Jimmy came in next, both bringing more moaning and shivering. Tony gave up his blanket to Jimmy while Jackson produced one more blanket and put it around Tim.

Cosmo and Remy wandered in last by about five seconds. They gratefully accepted coffee, but just cuddled up to Tony to get warm. He endured being squeezed between them until Gibbs started serving up. Then he just eased out from between them, saying, "Breakfast. Eat."

Jackson took head of the table while Gibbs took foot. Dean, Cosmo and Tim took one side while Remy, Jimmy and Tony took the other; the table was just barely big enough. Jackson took a serving and passed, as usual.

"Alright, someone want to tell me why you boys came in wet and frozen?" He was waiting for them to admit to some sort of prank.

Tony swallowed then said, "Swam across the lake and back. Bitch is cold."

"Language at table." Jackson wasn't a prude by any means but he did feel that swearing at table was just rude.

Tony grinned, "Sorry."

"So, swam across the lake, did you? Now why would you idjits do that?"

Remy answered, "We're SEALs. It's what we do."

Jackson grunted, then said, "Finish your food while we decide what to do next."

Gibbs waited for a moment to make sure no one else had anything to say. "I guess we take the Winchester to the range, then head home. We can be back by 1700 or so. There's some work to do, then Remy wants to head for his place to see his Gran."

Jackson nodded. "Okay. Eat up then." He got up to put his plate in the sink. He'd put the dishpan on the stove when he'd sat down, so the water was just beginning to steam. He started to lift it over to the counter, but found himself eased out of the way by Remy. He didn't bother to object; he just moved. "Thank you, Remy." He added some cold water to the pan and some soap. He didn't like starting with the pans, but everyone wasn't done eating yet, so he did. It didn't take him long to be done with the pots and pans. He was then eased away from the job as his son took over.

"Sit down and have a last cup of coffee while I finish this. We'll be on our way in a few." Gibbs filled a kettle with water and put it on the stove; he washed the dishes in the pan but rinsed them with cold water. When he was done, the water in the kettle was just hot, barely steaming. He took the time to rearrange the dishes in the drainer, then poured the hot water over them. "There. Air dry?"

Remy nodded. "No proper dish towels, just this." He brandished a piece of something, probably a piece of old sheet. "I'll put away, you all get breakin' down camp."

Tony nodded. "Come out when you're done; we'll probably have you packed by then."

Remy looked insulted. "AJ, how long do you think it'll take to dry an' stack?"

Tony just waved over his shoulder. "Linens need t'go back to the office; do that too."

Remy went back inside, grumbling. "Damn lazy-ass squid. Leave all the ..."

Cosmo snorted, then shouted at him, "How hard is it to walk with some sheets and shit?"

It didn't take long to fold bedding, break down tents, and clean the area. A ranger wandered by, nodded and went on. They got everything back in the saddle bags and trunks, according to the spreadsheet that Tim had made. The trailer was packed and hitched up, and they were ready to go.

Remy took the linens back to the office and turned them and the key in. The boy at the desk was half awake, grumbling good-naturedly about people who got up at the ass-crack of dawn. Remy grinned at him. "Don' forget swimmin' across the lake."

The boy eyeballed him, then said, "Too damn cold. I never swim in the lake. You're all crazy." He checked boxes on a form, pointed to a line, and said, "Sign there. There was no deposit. I bet you're military, so I'm not even gonna worry about if it's clean or not."

Remy signed, saying, "Navy. An' the dishes are clean. We ... Jet, that is ... scalded 'em."

"Great. One less thing I have to do. Dude, you would not believe the mess some people leave behind."

"I would. An' you better believe they're no better at home." Remy accepted the pink sheet the boy handed him, folded it, and tucked it into his wallet. "Thanks."

They were just about to leave when a small boy wandered over. He just stood, watching with sad eyes as they geared up, did radio checks, and generally fiddled. Tim, being a passenger, had time to notice the boy. He poked Jimmy then pointed, "Hey! Look."

Jimmy looked. "Wonder what's up with that?"

Since he was already hooked into the com system, everyone heard him. They all looked over to see the boy. Jackson walked over, as the oldest and least threatening. "Hello there. My name's Jackson. What's got you lookin' like a rain cloud?"

The boy sniffled a bit then replied, "I'm Billy. I miss my Dad. He was supposed to come home from ..." he waved a hand. "over there somewhere. He promised to give me a motorcycle ride for my birthday ... but he got set back and can't come home in time."

Jackson sighed; this was just the sort of thing military families had to deal with. "Well, why don't we find your Mom and see if she'll let one of the boys take you on a short ride. I know it's not your Dad but ... better than nothing."

A quick explanation over the radio later had them all shutting down and coming to stand around Billy.

Billy's mother, Marion, had been looking all over for him. When she saw him surrounded by big men in motorcycle leathers, she nearly had a heart attack. She scooted between Remy and Dean, saying, "Excuse me. What's going on here?"

Tim and Jimmy took over, proving what Gibbs always said about them being baby-faced and harmless-looking. "Hello. I'm Tim McGee and this is Jimmy Palmer. Billy was just telling us about his birthday." He smiled. "I'm sorry his Dad couldn't be here for it, but ... well, one of us could give him a ... place-holder sort of ride. So he won't be completely disappointed."

Marion looked around doubtfully. After getting closer these men looked ok, but appearances could be deceiving. "Well ... I don't know."

Gibbs produced his ID, motioning to the others to do the same. "I'm Leroy Jethro Gibbs." He went around the group introducing them as they produced their ID.

Marion examined the ID then said, "NCIS? I know what that is. My husband, Sam, is Navy."

This led to Tony, Remy, Dean and Cosmo showing her their other ID. This convinced Marion as she relaxed and exclaimed, "SEALs! Oh, well."

Billy wasn't as impressed by SEALs as he was by NCIS. "You a detective? Like on Law and Order?"

Gibbs nodded. "Tony, Tim, and I are. Jimmy works in the morgue."

Billy's eyes lit up. "In the morgue. With the bodies? Wow." it seemed he was more impressed with that than anything.

Jimmy flushed with pleasure, it was very rare, if not downright unheard of, for anyone to be in awe of him. He immediately offered, "I'll give you a ride, if you like." Billy did, so the trailer was quickly unhitched and parked.

Gibbs offered Marion a ride, so she could stay near her son but she turned him down, admitting that she'd never been on a motorcycle and didn't want to.

Billy was quickly fitted with Tim's helmet and plugged into the system. Jimmy pulled out, telling Billy what he was doing. Conversation flowed as Billy enjoyed the ability to talk to the driver and anyone else on the com. His questions ranged from how to do an autopsy, Jimmy flatly told him that he was too young for descriptions of cutting people open, to who had what rank on the team. The ride took about thirty minutes; it would have taken longer but Marion called them in, saying they'd taken up enough of their travel time.

Billy didn't argue, wise enough to know when to let something go. When Jimmy got back to the lot, Billy thanked him politely, then thanked Gibbs and the SEALs for their service. He saluted, then trotted to his Mom and went back to their camp, looking over his shoulder once to wave again.

Remy smiled at Jimmy. "That was good of you."

Jimmy just shrugged. "I enjoyed it. Poor kid, at least we made his birthday a bit better. I used to miss my Dad something awful."

They remounted and headed off for the rifle range to shoot.

.

The rifle range was primitive but well set up. The benches were made of rough-cut lumber, worn smooth by years of use. There were some signs with safety instructions and clean-up-after- yourself remarks.

Everyone now displayed the absolute discipline demanded of dedicated shooters. They all lined up behind Jackson as he showed them how to load and unload the Winchester. It was a lever-action, which they were not all that familiar with, but Jackson took each man in turn and, with Gibbs' help, they enjoyed a day of shooting.

Remy and Dean had to admit that they didn't like a lever-action at all. Cosmo was used to a bolt-action, but it didn't translate all that well. Gibbs shot it like he did every weapon he laid hands on. Tony, Tim, and Jimmy all basked in the attention from Jackson and did very well.

Jackson found, much to his disgust, that his eyesight was now not good enough for open sights. He did well enough, but not up to his own demanding standards.

Tony and Gibbs got all the papers and graded them. All the SEALs had done well, as was expected. Gibbs had the highest score, while Jackson had the lowest. Jimmy and Tim were turning out to be great sport shooters. They'd never be snipers, but they didn't want to be.

Jackson handed the Winchester to Gibbs, who tucked it back into its case. "Well, ya might as well take it home with you."

Gibbs just shook his head. "That Winchester has been behind the counter at the store since before I was born. Someday I'll hang it over my fireplace, but not yet. Not for a long time yet."

Jackson patted Gibbs on the shoulder. "Okay. Fine." He eyed the sky. "We better be on the road soon. I'm hungry."

Tony snorted out a laugh. "Okay. So ... where do you want to eat?"

The discussed where they should eat while getting ready to roll. No one really liked any of the places they knew of in the area. Someone suggested that Tim use his phone to search for somewhere.

Tim announced that Rickets Glen Hotel was considered one of the best in the area and the turn coming up led them back to Stillwater or to the hotel. Since it was only a few miles out of their way they decided to head for the hotel.

They made it in just a few minutes and pulled into the parking lot, motors rumbling.

Jackson led the way into the restaurant where the hostess met them.

"Gentlemen?"

Table for eight, please." Jackson smiled genially at her.

The hostess eyed them, liked what she saw and said, "Right this way."

She handed out menus, filled water glasses, and said, "Your server will be right with you. I will remind you that prime rib is only available after 5 p.m. on Friday, and Saturday and Sunday from noon to 9 p.m."

The lunch menu only had sandwiches, salads, and desserts. There was a bit of discussion over what to get, but Jackson had been told that the tenderloins were particularly good, so he decided on one with fries and slaw. Tony decided on the same, while Tim and Jimmy both wanted bacon cheeseburgers. Dean, Remy, and Cosmo went with the tenderloin, while Gibbs was his usual contrary self and went with chicken fingers, fries, and slaw.

The server showed up, coffee pot in hand. "Okay, everyone wants coffee?" She started pouring as she asked; up-turned cups usually meant coffee, but once in a while someone wanted tea. She set the pot down on the table and got out her pad. "One ticket or separate?"

Jackson said, "Separate, please."

Taffy nodded and waited for him to give his order. It didn't take long for her to get everyone's order written down. She headed off for the kitchen after saying, "I'll turn this in. Kitchen's really quick, so it should be out in thirty minutes or so. If you need more water, coffee ... whatever, just give me a wave, if I don't get around in time."

Remy grumbled, "We should have gotten some appetizers. I don't think that's going to be enough."

Jackson shrugged. "Why don't we just relax? If it's not enough you can always order something else."

Tony poked Remy, "Relax. For real. We're not gonna starve."

Remy nodded. "Okay, okay. Nightmare last night."

Everyone was immediately sympathetic. Remy looked around. He knew the sympathy was real; the compassion showed on everyone's face.

Dean nodded. "Wanna talk about it?"

"No. Just ... I remember always being hungry, and I'm hungry now. Not good." Remy rubbed his face.

Cosmo took a quick look around; seeing a basket of crackers, he just got up and grabbed a handful. He dumped them in front of Remy, mumbling, "Snack out, dude."

The waitress saw what was going on but kept her peace. The man who'd been given the crackers looked like he really needed them. She decided that he had to be either diabetic or hypoglycemic. She stuck her head into the kitchen and told the cook what was going on. He told her to take a few slices of cheese to the table.

Remy looked up as Taffy put the small plate at his elbow. "Don't know exactly what's wrong but here. If you need something sweet I could bring you a slice of pie right away."

Remy shook his head. "No, that's ok. This is perfect. Thanks."

Dean promptly tried to steal some cheese, Cosmo grabbed him, smacking his hand like he was three. "Ow. Man ... so not cool. Just wanted a taste."

Jimmy snorted. "No, you're just jealous that he's got cheese and you don't."

Tim interjected. "If you want cheese, you should have ordered a cheeseburger."

Remy was now comically guarding the tiny plate, both arms wrapped protectively around it, shoulders hunched. "NO! Mine ... all mine, my precious."

"Oh, man, not Rings. Please, no." Tony moaned softly. "If they get started on that we'll be listening to mangled quotes from fourteen hours of movies."

Gibbs snickered. "Really? Bad?"

Tony nodded gravely. "Yes, Jet, really bad. Misquoting misquotes. Mysting the unmystable. Badly. You do not want to know."

Gibbs smirked back. "I already know. Those lugnuts all live with me, remember?"

Tony laughed. "I do. Jet, I swear, you're a glutton for punishment. How's that workin' out?"

Gibbs snorted. "Good, real good." He looked around the table, a fond expression in his usually cold blue eyes. "You got good people. You know that, right?"

Tony nodded. "I do." He glanced up just in time to see Tim kick Jimmy under the table. Jimmy retaliated, only he missed and kicked Cos instead.

Cos intelligently reacted by throwing a packet of sugar at Jimmy. Jimmy batted it away, right into Dean's coffee. Dean retaliated to that by punching him in the shoulder, not hard, just hard enough to make him grumble, "Ow. Asshat."

"Not. Bitch." Dean fished the soggy sugar packet out of his coffee and put it on the saucer. "Ick."

Tony ran interference easily. "You squids keep it down to a dull roar. You break anything and I'll run you into the ground. I swear, we go on vacation and discipline goes out the door. And I even gave Dean and Remy a pass."

Remy nodded sadly. "It does. It truly does. Sad, very sad. And you did, for which I thank you."

Taffy came to the table with a huge tray. "Okay. Settle down. Food's here." She grinned around then put the tray down on the stand the bus boy set for her. "Okay. Tenderloin ... cheeseburger ..." and she went around the table setting down each plate, remembering who'd ordered what. She grinned at the now surprised expressions on the men's faces. "Yeah, kinda on the big side."

The guys who'd ordered tenderloins were just staring at their plates, or platters. The tenderloins were huge, a good ten inches across and fairly thick. The pile of fries was what most restaurants would call a triple order, and the bowl of slaw on the side was at least a double serving. The cheeseburgers, as the menu stated, were half pounders, but they were hand patted and had been made thinner than expected, so they were also huge. Since they were loaded with cheese, lettuce, onions, tomatoes, and pickles they compared favorably with the tenderloins and were accompanied with the same fries and slaw. Gibbs' chicken fingers were more like a fist, as they were a whole breast cut into fingers that were still attached at one end. There were three of them, as well as his fries and slaw.

Taffy smiled. "I don't think you'll be leaving hungry. Now. More coffee?"

Gibbs said yes to more coffee and asked about pie. Taffy nodded at a display, saying, "You can't see it very well from here ... so, apple, peach, cherry, banana cream, lemon cream, or ... um ... mixed berry. There's also carrot cake, angel food with strawberry or peach compote, and ice cream. Standard three on that."

Remy eyed his plate then announced, "Looks decent."

Everyone laughed and started eating. Taffy came back twice with more coffee and water. She was surprised to see that everyone had nearly finished their entire plate the second time she came around. Most people managed half, at best; they usually were asking for a take-away container, not stealing fries from each other.

Dean snitched a fry from Cos, who quickly took it back. "Eat your own, grabby."

Cos eyed his nearly empty plate and said, "I did. All gone. Gimme some."

Dean shook his head. "Can't help it if you're a pig. Should have eaten slower." He made grunting noises which brought Tony's attention.

"Damn it, Dean, not at the table. Sorry, Jackson." Tony shook his head. "Bunch of children. Really."

Jackson eyed the whole table; he was now sure that they were all just jazzed and the vacation was supposed to bring them down, and the only way to do that was to let them act it out. "Never mind. If you're still hungry, why don't we order a couple of plates of appetizers?"

This suggestion was greeted with muted cheers so Tony waved at Taffy. "Miss Taffy. A couple of plates of appetizers, please."

Taffy smiled. "You sure, hun? That's a lot of food."

Jackson, well aware of the amount of food needed to keep up with their exercise program, snorted, "You didn't see this pod of SEALs this morning." He turned to Gibbs and asked, "Leroy, how far did they swim?"

Gibbs thought for a moment. "Well, lake's about four miles across where they did their swim, so eight miles. And we all ran the Falls Trail before that. That's right at eight miles from start to finish. Skipped weight training, but did Tai Chi and yoga, then they swam the lake while I came in to help you with breakfast. And that was ... at 0700. Then we all spent four ... five hours shooting. What time is it?" He looked at his watch to see that it was late, nearly 1400. "Wow. 1400, no wonder we're all starved."

Taffy blinked. "SEALs. Like Navy SEAL?"

Tony nodded. "Yeah, us four ..." he pointed out his team. "He's a Marine, retired. Those two are NCIS. And Jackson was Air Force."

Taffy looked impressed. "Ok. I have to correct the tickets." She smiled. "I even know what NCIS is. Service people, current or retired, get free coffee. I'll even give NCIS a break."

Jackson started to refuse but Tony patted his hand. He finally just nodded and echoed everyone else's thanks.

After Taffy went away, Tony said, "Free coffee, a piece of pie ..." he shrugged. "Just take it. It makes them feel good and where's the harm? Anything really big, that's different."

Jackson nodded. "I think you're right."

Under the eyes of two gimlet-eyed Gibbs men, the rest of the group calmed down and finished eating like, as Jackson put it, the gentlemen the government thought they were.

Taffy brought the appetizers and put one plate on each end of the table. "There you go. I'm still flabbergasted at the amount of food you guys ate. Really."

As usual everyone grabbed for their favorite and, also as usual, Gibbs got there first. No one could figure out how he managed but he did. He snatched up the plate but, instead of taking his favorite, he offered the platter to his father.

Jackson eyed the platter then took a few mozzarella sticks, a potato skin and some onion rings. "Thanks, Leroy." He passed the platter to Gibbs.

Gibbs helped himself then passed it on.

Both platters made the rounds and emptied in one go.

The team all told more stories, laughed, and ate too much.

Finally Gibbs pushed away from the table. "Well, that was my second piece of pie."

Dean shook his head, burped then said, "No, Jet, that was your third. Seriously, learn to count."

Tony finished his coffee and said, "Jet, Dean's right. Third."

Cosmo shook his head. "Sad, really. Senile at his age." He gave Jackson a mournful look. "You think it's the concussions?"

Jackson joined in. "Naw, he's always been that way."

Gibbs defended himself. "Yeah? Age comments from wet-behind-the-ears squids? Please? And it was definitely two."

Remy thought for a second. "No, I saw Taffy put three pieces at your place."

Gibbs pointed to Jimmy. "She did, but he stole one."

Jimmy looked around then denied it. "Did not. She put that one piece right by my hand. That made it mine. And I only had two pieces, so don't go there."

Tim made a rude noise. "Go where? We're just sittin' here, runnin' off at the mouth."

Gibbs replied to that in an intelligent manner. "Punk."

"Grouch."

Gibbs gave him a smug look. "Second b's for bastard. Told you that years ago."

Tony grumbled, "We need to get going before we scare the locals. I'll go pay up. You head for the motors."

Taffy eyed the bill, looking a bit worried. She was allowed to give one bottomless cup of coffee and one piece of pie. If she had to pay for all the extras, it would wipe out two days' worth of tips.

Tony noticed the look but ignored it. He told her. "Subtract whatever we get free and tell me the damage." He gave her a flirtatious smile.

Taffy sighed, did as he asked and tentatively told him the total. Tony just paid up, added a good tip and said, "There you go. Keep the change. And thanks for putting up with us, and the pie and coffee. Have a nice day." He left before she could run the register but her happy squeal followed him out the door. "You're welcome, ma'am."

The deep rumble of seven motorcycles starting up brought stares from all over the parking lot. Tony raised a fist then brought it down, "Light 'em up an' move 'em out." The bikes grumbled their way out of the parking lot, followed by Jackson's old truck. Tony made a mental note to check the exhaust.

They traveled the back roads back to Stillwater, enjoying the pleasant weather on the way. Tim had installed a repeater in Jackson's truck and he could hear and speak to them. They were about halfway home when Jackson said, "Ok, boys, need to pull over at the next convenience."

Tony chuckled, "Coffee want out?"

"You bet. Hell gettin' old," Jackson laughed. "Next pullout is about a mile up the road on the right. Small park and overlook."

They pulled in to the park, scaring a murder of crows into the air, cawing indignantly. Several other vehicles were on the lot, but no one seemed too fussed by the group. Tony had taken to calling them a pod as they were either SEALs or SEAL-ready. He had said that he'd have any of them in his stack.

Jackson made a beeline for the facilities, which he called the head. He was followed by Jimmy and Tim.

Remy eyed them. "Jackson I can see, but Gremlin and Digimon? Bladder the size of a pea, I swear. Sad, truly sad."

"It is. Really sad," Cosmo agreed.

Tony shrugged. "Neither one of them has ever been on a long term stake-out. Now Jet on the other hand ... he's like a tanker."

Gibbs laughed. "And you're not? I've seen you drink coffee for fourteen hours straight. Never went once."

Tony winked. "So true. Then I went an' took the whizz from hell; thought I'd never get it all out."

Gibbs shook his head. "Me too, me too. But at least we know our kidneys are okay."

Dean nodded. "I think we've all got bladders the size of a horse. Can't just go anywhere, any when on an op."

Cosmo agreed. "True." He looked around. "Want to go see the overlook?"

They all headed off to see what the view was.

It turned out that the view was of a river valley. None of them were sure whether it was the Alleghenies or the Poconos; they just wanted to enjoy the view. Tony took a moment to take a few photos with his cell phone.

Jackson returned and stood with them for a moment, enjoying the view with his boys.

Remy eyed his watch then the sky. "We better be going. We're running late."

Jackson sighed. "We better. Don't want to be driving after dark. My ol' eyes ... I get stars and sparkles now."

Gibbs grimaced at that. He was going to have to do something about his Dad's driving soon. He wasn't too happy about it, but he would be even more unhappy if something happened.

Jackson noticed and ordered, "Don't you go gettin' yourself all in a lather, Leroy. I close before dusk so I'm home before I have a problem. If I need to be open after dusk, I take a cab. Or the cab, I should say. Or someone'll drive me. Come on. Let's get going."

They mounted up and rumbled away, much to the relief of the other occupants of the park. The pod had no idea how dangerous they looked to common civilians.

They made it home in good time after all and settled in for supper, pizza from the local joint. It was very good but made them all sleepy, so they hit the rack early. Tomorrow was work day.

.

Tony grumbled his way out of bed. He was usually one of the first up but, some days, his body wanted to catch up and he'd sleep in. Today was one of those days, but he had to get up; they were fixing things today.

Jackson eyed the grumpy bunch that sat at his table. "Boys, work can wait. You all need to just slack off once in a while." Gibbs opened his mouth but shut it again when he was told, "Leroy, rest. You've got two weeks. You took a day to get here, two days at the park and coming back. It's only Wednesday. If you're planning a trip down to Louisiana, you've still got three days here. Sunday to get down, part of Monday, if you take secondary roads. That leaves you four days there and two to get home, unpack and clean up. Relax."

Gibbs nodded. "Okay, Dad. Anyone want to go on a run?" This comment was met with a barrage of toast, wadded napkins, and kitchen linens. He protected his head with his arms and laughed. "Okay! Okay! Don't get your shorts in a knot. I give."

They lounged around most of the morning, then took Jackson to the local pizza place for lunch. This was more fun than you'd expect, as Jackson fired up the old tractor and took them on the wagon, hayride-style.

The owner of the restaurant was used to this sort of thing, usually a pack of teenagers celebrating a win or smaller kids celebrating a birthday. The group that ambled into the place left him shaking his head. Adults on a hayride?

Jackson smiled at the hostess. "Hello, Janice, big table?"

Janice flirted with Jackson a bit while saying, "Hello, handsome, sure thing. Who are all these cute guys?"

Jackson laughed. "Friends of Leroy's." He made quick introductions, finishing, "And don't get your hopes up. They're headed back home on Friday, or Saturday. Now scoot and bring something to drink."

Janice scooted and came back with glasses and a pitcher of Coke and another of sweet tea. "Coke and sweet tea. Anyone want water?" No one did, so she handed out menus and told them, "I'll be back in a few to take your order."

Gibbs busied himself with passing drinks around while Tony glanced at the menu then said, "Four supreme large?"

Dean frowned, "Anchovies?"

"Not on the menu. We'll do without."

Jackson shrugged, "Put green olives on instead. Most people like anchovies because of the salt. Green olives will do."

Remy nodded. "Ok. Sounds good to me."

They agreed, except for Tony, who insisted on one being his favorite of pepperoni, sausage, extra cheese. Janice only asked, "What kind of sausage: sage, farm style, or spicy Italian?"

Everyone groaned when Tony said, "Since I'm Italian and very spicy ..." he ducked the swat Gibbs aimed at him and snickered. Janice just rolled her eyes and wrote things down.

They settled in to wait for the pizza. While they waited they discussed what needed doing in the way of repairs. Jackson held out for the already-discussed soffit-painting and the repair of the loose board at the store.

Tony nodded, "And mowing. What about that back pasture? It looks awful ragged."

"Yeah, city's after me to mow that too. The boy was supposed to mow it, but he always crapped out before he got to it. That tractor can take a belly mower, and I've got one."

Remy shrugged easily. "I can mount it and do the pasture. Really don' wan' me paintin'"

Dean shuddered dramatically. "No, no you really don't. Last time he painted anything it was with a laser, an' it blew up. Really sweet job."

This led to Remy and Dean explaining laser targeting to Jackson who was fascinated by the whole idea.

"Well, isn't that something. I swear, if we'd had that, ol' Adolph would a' been on the run before you knew it."

Cosmo nodded, then shrugged, "Maybe. The biggest problem is establishing location. You can target something to within six feet, or less, but making sure you've got the right target ... now that's something else entirely."

Gibbs also shrugged then commented, "Who *cares* if a laser-guided 500-lb. bomb is accurate to within 9 feet? I mean, it's 500 lb. of ordnance."

Jackson blinked for a moment. "Is that a common payload?"

Tony thought for a moment. "That's only one bomb. A payload is usually six? or eight? That's Air Force stuff, so I'm not really sure. Hell of a hole, at any rate."

The pizza arrived, and they all grabbed a slice.

Dean moaned, "Man, that's good."

Remy stuffed most of a piece in his mouth, then had to take a couple of gulps of his drink to cool his burning mouth.

Gibbs calmly put two pieces on his plate, then sat back to let it cool. Tony imitated him, as did Jackson. The rest all went through all sorts of antics to keep from burning their mouths.

Cosmo fanned his with a napkin. Tim and Jimmy both blew on it.

Janice brought Remy a glass of ice. "Suck on that for a moment, hun. And don't eat so fast, you'll choke." Remy just nodded and sucked on several pieces of ice to ease the burning in his mouth.

Jackson shook his head. "You know that cheese is hot."

Tim said, "It's actually not usually the cheese. The sauce has sugar in it, and hot sugar really sticks. Then add the residual heat in the cheese and it's a recipe for a bad burn." He looked at Remy. "You want Jimmy to take a look?"

Remy shook his head. "Not that bad. Pain's almost gone. I just need a few to let it cool." He grinned at Jimmy, "But thanks all the same."

They all returned to scarfing down pizza, insults flying.

Tony finally grabbed the last piece of supreme, much to Remy's annoyance. "Damn it, AJ, I wanted that."

"You snooze, you loose. Whiner."

"Bitch." Remy crossed his arms over his chest, obviously settling in for a good sulk.

"Can't help it if you're slooooowwwwww." Tony bit into the pizza with smug satisfaction.

Jackson sighed. "Ever feel like you're a zoo keeper?"

"All the time, Dad, all the time." Gibbs watched his friends with a smile.

Janice ambled over. "More drinks? Something else to eat?"

The offer of more food was turned down but everyone wanted another glass of whatever they were drinking. Janice brought a pitcher of each and let them deal for themselves.

Tim had settled back to fiddle with his phone. Gibbs eyed it for a moment then demanded. "What the heck are you doing now?"

Tim showed Gibbs his phone. "Setting up the route for the trip to Louisiana. See, Google maps ..." he proceeded to show Gibbs how to move the red line to set their route. "And then ..." he clicked here and there. "Lock it in so it doesn't get changed by accident. And ... there."

Gibbs eyed the whole thing for a moment then said, "Show me again." So Tim went over it again, realizing that Gibbs would now remember it.

Jimmy poked Remy, who was beginning to nod off. "Wake up. If you fall asleep now, you'll never wake up, an' I'm not haulin' your heavy ass out to the wagon."

Remy jerked, snorted, and mumbled, "Not askin' ya to. I'm up."

Jackson shook his head, well aware that he wasn't. "Not. Come on, everyone, we better get ta gettin' or half of you'll be asleep where you sit." He got up and headed for the register. Tony tried to take the bill but Jackson told him, "Stand down, squid. You're fixin' up my place; the least I can do is feed you. Get that Sasquatch to the wagon before he falls asleep on his feet."

Tony thanked Jackson then went to help Jimmy drag Remy to the wagon. They were all drooping a bit, full stomachs and lazy days making them sleepy. They were beginning to wind down and really relax.

Jackson admitted that he wanted a nap too, but he was good to get them home; after all, the old 1951 8N Ford didn't go that fast. Since it was a hand-feed, all he had to do was set the feed and steer.

When they got back home to Jackson's house, they all headed inside to lie around in the living room. There was a game on, college football, so they watched that, commenting idly on plays, but not getting overly involved. Jackson realized that they were all asleep and went to turn off the TV.

"Don't do that, Dad; they'll all wake up." Gibbs smiled at his dad and went back to sleep. Jackson just went up to his bedroom and took a nap himself.

.

Late afternoon saw them all getting ready for the next day. Remy was swearing up a storm as he put the belly mower on the tractor, with help from Cosmo. Dean and Gibbs were examining the porches and soffits to make sure all the wood was good and decide how much paint they were going to need.

Gibbs was not happy to find several rotten boards in the porch; his knife went clear through them. "Dad, damn it. You're gonna wind up with a broken hip or somethin'."

"I had the city inspector out for a free inspecion ..." he thought for a moment then sighed, "Well, damn, that was ... six? No, seven years ago. Call the lumber yard and I'll set up an account."

"Okay. Shouldn't cost all that much; most of the expense is in labor." Gibbs measured up, writing things down on a small note pad.

He was soon done and speaking to the lumber yard about paint, decking, and planks for the floor in the store. He finished the call, saying, "Okay, I'll have the measure for the store first thing in the morning."

He went to check on Remy.

"How ya doin'?"

"Okay. Just gettin' this ..." he grunted with effort, "belt on the pulley is a bitch. Cos, pull harder, I need more slack."

Gibbs leaned on the cheater bar with Cosmo and got Remy that inch of extra slack he needed to slip the belt onto the PTO pulley. "There!"

"You need any more help?" Gibbs wiped his hands on a rag Cosmo gave him.

Remy leaned on the rear tire as he started putting the shield back on. "No, thanks. Just need to get the safety shield back on and we're good to go."

It didn't take him long to finish that job. They all headed for the house to take stock, figure out who needed to do what, and settle in to watch news. Jackson asked what they wanted for supper and was happy to hear that stew and biscuits was fine with everyone. He headed for the kitchen asking, "You want cut or is choked-off good enough?"

They agreed that choked-off was fine, and Jackson set to work. He wasn't alone. Gibbs joined him to sear off the meat, while Tony peeled potatoes, Remy chopped onions, and Jimmy took care of the rest of the vegetables. It didn't take but about fifteen minutes to have the stew simmering in the pot and trays of biscuits ready for the oven.

.

Jackson folded the last kitchen towel and dropped it into the laundry basket. "There. That's done. Fine crew ya got there."

Gibbs nodded as he wiped off the table. "I do. Wouldn't believe havin' that bunch a' squids livin' with me would be so ... relaxing."

"Havin' people around is good. I got neighbors an' everyone drops into the store for a visit at least once a week. If I need more help, I can call a dozen people. You stop worryin' about me, hear?" Jackson patted Gibbs on the shoulder.

"Can't help it. Someday, you're not gonna be able to manage anymore. What then?" Gibbs was worried and didn't mind showing it.

"Well, assisted living, I guess. No place around here, but there's a couple o' places down south a ways." Jackson wasn't about to worry until it was time, and it wasn't time yet.

A voice from the door to the living room made them both startle. "If you need us out, just say." Remy frowned at the floor.

Jackson snorted. "In a pig's eye. I'm not puttin' you out of your home."

Gibbs seconded that. "No way. We need more room, I'll just build on. Not like you idiots can't follow a simple order to hold somethin' or cut here."

Remy's relief was obvious. "Well, okay. But we'll do ..." he waved a hand.

Jackson patted him on the arm. "Stop that. No need to worry until it's time. I'm good for a few years yet. And ... we'll deal when it's time. I'm sure something will come up when it's needed."

They wandered back into the living room to watch the news and Jackson's favorite gameshow. No one realized how late it was until Tony glanced at his watch. "Damn! It's nearly 2100. Didn't realize it was that late."

Jackson nodded. "Local late news, then my show. I'm sure you boys are used to late nights. Not like us old country folks."

Tony admitted that he usually didn't sleep much but seemed to be catching up on zz's. Everyone else grumbled about early nights and early mornings but they all went to bed too.

.


	5. Chapter 5

. Chapter Five .

Morning came early with much bitching and moaning.

Gibbs decided to forego a shower, knowing he was going to be covered in sweat, sawdust, and dirt before the day was done. He sat at the table, sipping coffee and listening to the muted chaos of six men getting ready.

Tony shouted, "Dean, damn it, my toothbrush."

Dean's loud rejoinder of, "Not. Mine. Yours is green," was negated by Remy.

"It's not. The green one was left behind. His is blue."

Cosmo was next on the bitch list as he slid into the running shower before anyone else could.

Dean yelled, "Cos! Dibs, man."

"Dibs my butt. If you're not in it, it's fair game. Five minutes." Cos shut the door in Dean's face. Dean slapped it with one hand.

Jackson yelled. "All you idiots settle down. Form a damn line. Know you know how to do that. Navy's all hurry up and line up. Be down in twenty or you'll be eatin' cold food."

Tony ambled down the stairs, yelling over his shoulder. "Don't know why anyone's actually showerin', we'll all be sweaty and dirty in no time anyway." He flopped down, took the mug Jackson handed him and asked, "Ok, paint soffits. What's first."

"Scrap off the flaking paint and check for soft spots." Gibbs smirked at Tony, "I'm sure you know how to scrape paint."

"Jerk."

"Dumb squid."

"Jarhead."

"Damn right. Drink your coffee." Gibbs finished his coffee and refilled his mug.

Tony took over the cooking, leaving Jackson to sit next to his son. "You know that's a lot of work to do in one day."

Dean flopped into a seat and replied, "So's painting a battleship, but it gets done." He frowned, then continued, "Usually paint a section at a time, but works out to a complete job once a year or so. So doing the soffits isn't that big a job. And there's seven of us. Six painting, and Remy's gonna mow everything. That 8N is gonna make that a fairly easy job."

Gibbs shook his head. "I'm not painting. I'm fixin' the porch an' the store floor."

"Ok, that's still me, Dean, Cos, Tim, and Jimmy. If five men can't get that job done in two days ... well, send me back to boot 'cause I didn't learn anything the first time around."

Cosmo joined the conversation, saying, "There's not that much. The house is big, but it's more up and down than spread out. There's only about ..." he mumbled off.

Jackson laughed. "The house is 40 by 75. Add on the porch ... 12 by 14, figure in the angle, which is 40 degrees, and I come up with 280 feet, plus or minus a bit. Figure paint at 16 inches by 300 feet and there'll be plenty. Now, is breakfast done yet?"

It seemed it was. As breakfast included pancakes, Tony took over halfway through and kept it coming until everyone had their fill. Then they broke up to head off for paint, scrapers, brushes, and anything else they needed. Jackson sent Jimmy to the neighbor across the way to borrow his ladder.

This resulted in the neighbor helping him carry it back.

Once he was there, he found Jackson and started in. "Jackson Gibbs. I hope to hell you're not planning on scrambling up that ladder to paint so much as an inch. You'll fall off and break something."

Jackson just pointed to the by-standing men. "Nope. Don't plan on doing more than kibitz. The boys are doin' all the hard stuff. Leroy's gonna take care of the porch and that squeak in the store. Remy's gonna mow everything for me. You want him to mow that mess too?" Jackson pointed to another lot that was also overgrown.

The neighbor eyed the lot then smiled at Remy. "If you don't mind, I'd really appreciate it. The city's makin' fine noises. Like there's anyone who mows lots anymore." He grunted then wandered away.

Remy shrugged. "Doan' make no difference to me. I'm lookin' at four hours of mowing, might as well make it five or six and be done with the day." He grinned at Jackson. "I might need to get more gas. There any problems with me drivin' on the street?"

Jackson shook his head. "Not that I know of. People do it all the time."

Jackson made a call to the lumber yard, told the owner what was going on, and arranged for Gibbs to get any lumber he needed. He also arranged to pay for the paint and all the other stuff as well. The owner said he'd refigure for the paint, just in case.

.

Gibbs ambled in the door of the lumber yard office and greeted the manager. "Ralph."

"Leroy. Got your lumber picked out, and the paint is mixing. Everything else is in this box. Got some shims and that glue you asked for. Anything else?" He plopped the box on the counter top.

"I'll be takin' a look at that lumber." Gibbs had never particularly liked Ralph. He was one of those boys who had never actually participated in bullying, but had been a bystander and egger-on.

"I picked it myself." Ralph knew that Gibbs didn't like him and why. He was a bit scared of both him and Jackson, with good reason. Jackson Gibbs made no bones, now, that he was looking back on things with a different eye.

"That's what worries me. I'm not takin' seconds." Gibbs checked the box, took out the huge bottle of glue and exchanged it for a much smaller one. "Not buildin' an ark, just puttin' down a single board in the store and three on the porch. Be sure to change the charge."

Ralph nodded sourly. "Ok. I've changed it. See?" He shoved the handwritten bill across the counter for Gibbs to initial the change.

"I'll recheck everything after I've seen the lumber. And ..." he squinted at the paper. "I don't need 20 board feet of pine. Christ on a cracker." He changed another line then squinted again. "Why don't you just start again? This is a Charlie Foxtrot from the word go."

After wadding the bill up, Gibbs went out to check every board. He rejected them all as they were pine instead of the oak and pressure-treated fir he'd asked for.

"Don't like it? Mr. Jenkins picked it all out." the loader was willing to cooperate. He wasn't that fond of Ralph Jenkins either.

"No. Ralph doesn't know a hawk from a handsaw. Bean-counting little ass-wipe." Gibbs made an apologetic face at the boy.

"That's okay. When he told me what it was for, I knew I'd be putting it back. It's just easier to do what he says, then fix it. Man'd argue the devil out of hell, just to tell him to go back. So. Gibbs' store? Needs a nice four-by, oak. How long?" Gibbs told him, so he went to look for it. "Damn. Sorry. Don't have anything that short. Shortest I've got is twelve feet. But ... if you need nine," he grinned, "I'll just cut it for you. And the porch needs fir. That I've got in six, nine, and fifteen feet."

Gibbs, envisioning the porch and the soft spot, said, "Need three boards. Give me one nine-footer and two six."

"You got it." Mark trotted off to get the boards and cut them.

While he was waiting, Gibbs wrote out the ticket himself, checking the box to make sure everything he needed was in it. Ralph came out with the paint. Gibbs made him go back.

"Damn it, Ralph, you could fuck up a two-car funeral. I said exterior, beige. That's interior white. If you're lookin' for where my goat's tied, you're about to find it. An' you're not gonna like what happens. I'm not some skinny kid fightin' three guys twice my size anymore." Gibbs gave him that look that made stronger men than Ralph cringe.

It didn't help that the owner came out of the back to greet Gibbs. "Mr. Gibbs. Hello." He looked from Ralph to Gibbs then back. "Okay. What the hell's goin' on?"

Gibbs just laid it out like it was, ending, "And I don't have the time or inclination to deal with his petty asshattery. Here's what I've written up; you can check it if you want." He handed Evan Smith the ticket.

Mr. Smith was an import from upstate and didn't give a flying fuck about old rivalries; all he cared about was the fact that one of his employees was annoying a paying customer. "Okay, Ralph, I don't know what the hell you're thinking, but this is the third time I've gotten the same complaint. If you don't get along with someone, don't wait on them, don't fill their order, and don't get into something with them. Leave it to Mark to do. And, next time will be the last. You got me?"

Ralph did. He scowled at his feet, nodded, mumbled something, then went into the office.

Mr. Smith sighed, "I'm sorry about that. He's usually good help, but there's an undercurrent in this town that I just don't get. Can't seem to get a handle on it either. But ... Mark's good help. I'll just let him deal with your order, if that's okay?"

Gibbs nodded. "That's fine. He's a good kid, I can tell."

Mr. Smith then went to give his employee an ultimatum: treat all customers with equal and excessive politeness or lose his job.

Gibbs went back out with his ticket in hand. "Here. Boss said to finish this for him."

Mark just smirked at Gibbs and went to finish the paperwork. "I'll just put this on Mr. Smith's desk." He stuffed the paper into a pocket and took Gibbs to see the boards. "Here we are. If they're okay, I'll just load them on the truck for you." Gibbs approved and finally drove away with his supplies.

.

Gibbs drove back to the house and parked as close to the porch as he could get. He started unloading the paint, counting the cans as he did so. He realized that there were at least two too many but decided to let that go; they might need more than they expected.

Tony wandered over to help, looking for the scrapers. "We're gonna need another ladder. One to scrape and one to paint, switch off every hour or so. The guys not painting can be clearing out the garden and trimming the roses." He laughed easily. "That'll actually be me and Dean. Those other lugnuts would probably kill 'em by hacking them back too hard. If you need any help at the store, call me." He found the scrapers, then turned to answer a yell from the shop. "What!?"

Cosmo hollered again, coming around the side of the house. "I found a scaffold in the rafters. Jackson forgot all about it. It'll hold two of us. That'll make it easier to scrape. It won't be that hard to move either. So ... if we had another ladder, that'd be great."

Tony brandished the two scrapers. "Go back and check the rafters again. No telling whether there's another ladder there."

Cosmo trotted off to check. No telling what was up there that Jackson had forgotten about.

They wound up finding two more ladders and another pair of clippers for the roses.

Tony nodded to Gibbs, then gave his orders. "Okay. Gibbs will do the store floor first. You call if you need help. Do not try to stick it out by yourself. Tim and Jimmy, you scrape. Doesn't take much skill, and you can't mess it up, unless you take a huge gouge out of the wood. Remy, mow. You need fuel, call the Sheriff's office to find out if it's okay to drive on the streets. Dean, Cosmo, you paint. And do not drip paint all over the bushes and shit. I'll start taking the soft boards out of the porch." Gibbs nodded and left.

Jackson announced, "You forgot to give me a job."

Tony shook his head. "No, I didn't. Keep everyone hydrated. Tea, water, lemonade. No soda. Ok, let's get this show on the road."

And they scattered to their jobs. Tim and Jimmy got the scrapers and mounted the scaffolding to begin scraping the soffits. While they were doing that, Dean and Cosmo were covering the bushes with plastic tarps to keep paint drips off them. They also prepped their paint trays and brushes. Remy headed for the back lot to start the tractor and begin mowing. He had to hand-set the mower deck, so he set it low and began to mow the yard first. Tony got a crowbar and saw to begin taking out the soft place in the porch.

Jackson joined him, settling on the steps. "I'm glad that's not somewhere people walk. Hate to see someone fall through."

Tony poked the board Gibbs had marked. "It's really soft. Dry rot, Jet said." He jabbed the crowbar through the soft board and began to pry it up. It came easily, leaving nails in the stringer. "Well, that's that. Should I pry the nails out or hammer them in?"

"Pry 'em out. If you leave 'em there's a good chance they'll be right where Leroy wants to nail in the new board." Jackson watched as Tony did exactly that, skillfully extracting the nails without bending them.

Tony moved on to the next board, poking it to make sure it needed to come out. All in all he removed exactly what Gibbs had marked.

"How the hell did he know?" Tony couldn't tell the difference between good and bad boards, except by breaking them with the crowbar.

Jackson chuckled. "Bring one over to me and I'll show you." Tony did and sat down beside the older man. Jackson poked it with his pocket knife; the knife sank in easily. Jackson handed Tony the knife. "Now you." Tony imitated Jackson. "See how easy it goes in? That's dry rot. Wet rot, the board is soggy. Either one gets bad enough and you can crumble the wood with your fingers. You check around for more spots?"

Tony shook his head, poking the board again. "No. Gibbs crawled around on this porch for an hour. I swear he checked every square inch."

"Okay. That's my boy. Never less than thorough. Now. We better check on those four before they hurt themselves." Jackson got up to go inside for drinks while Tony did go to check on Tim, Jimmy, Dean, and Cosmo. He was pretty sure that Cosmo wouldn't let the others get up to much, but it never hurt to check.

He was surprised to find that they were already about halfway done. The old paint was flaking badly, so it was easy to scrape off. Dean made sure that Tim and Jimmy knew to really scrape off all the old paint so the new would stick properly.

Cosmo hopped off his ladder to talk to Tony. "Whoever did this job last time ought to be keel-hauled. Didn't scrape at all and the new paint is peeling off with the old. It's a mess. We'll be done quicker than we thought, because the scraping is going so quickly."

Jackson came out with a jug and tin cup. He explained, "I don't feel safe trying to carry a tray of something, but this jug works just as good. Hand it around." He offered the jug to Tony, who took it and poured a measure into the cup. He handed the cup off to Tim, who emptied it, then held it while Tony filled it again. They were still getting their drinks when someone called, "Yoo-hoo! Anyone?"

Jackson went off to see who it was. He was gone for a bit then came back around. "Mrs. Flint just brought cupcakes. I expect every ol' biddy in town is baking something or makin' a casserole," he grinned. "Can't just come by and ask what's going on. But ... most of 'em are good cooks. We'll eat well tonight and probably tomorrow."

They finished their drinks and went back to work. Jackson went back inside, deciding that waiting by the door was a good idea, as he expected at least half a dozen nosy parkers to drop by with something as an excuse to find out what was going on.

Tony trotted off to check on Remy, just in case. He hadn't seen him go by for a while and didn't hear the 8N running. He rounded the shop in a bit of a panic. Remy was okay, however; he was adjusting the deck to mow the overgrown lots. Tony was just in time to help him lift the deck into a higher position.

Remy tightened the last bolt then wiped the sweat off his face and neck.

Tony eyed him for a moment. "You get a drink?"

"Yeah. Went into the house and got some water before I started adjusting the deck. Thanks for the help."

"Welcome. You keep hydrated." Tony turned to go back to the house; he was thinking about running into town to check on Gibbs.

Remy called after him. "Is there anywhere to swim? Find out, will you?"

"Ok, I'll ask Jackson. Maybe a swimming pool, if nothing else."

Tony chuckled to himself, he was missing water too. Even Tim was now part fish.

Jackson called them in for lunch at 1300. They washed up and settled at the table.

"Ok, you animals, just help yourselves. I set it all up buffet style..." he chuckled, "on the buffet." he motioned to an old-fashioned piece of furniture covered with an odd assortment of casseroles, pies, cakes, and dips. "I don't advise trying the green bean stuff. Addie never makes it right. And that cheese dip is just Velveeta and a can of something. We used to call it booger dip. Other than that everything's good."

It didn't take them long to empty the dishes, even the green beans. Tony took that into the kitchen, drained off the watery soup, and added a bit of this and that. The dips all went, except for the one Jackson had warned them about; it was too salty and the can of something turned out to be pimentos and green peppers. It made its way into the trash quite quickly.

After they ate, Remy went back to mowing, Tim and Jimmy to scraping, and Dean and Cosmo to painting, leaving Jackson and Tony to wash up. Gibbs examined the porch, then started inserting the new boards.

Tony wiped the last dish and put it on the kitchen table. "Okay. That's done. Now all we have to do is get the dishes back to the owners. How the hell do we do that?"

Jackson laughed. "We don't. I'll just take them all down to the store and put them behind the counter. As the ladies come in, I can give them their dishes back. Now ... we better be planning something for supper. And I hear that you're all going swimming."

Tony nodded. "All of us are part fish. Even that idiot gyrene son of yours. Just ... public pool?"

"Nope. Closed about three years ago as unsafe. There's a clay pit that's safe." He chuckled, then continued, "It's called The Pit. Down by the mine. It's still in use; they pump the water out of the mine into a sump that comes up in the pit. Water's cold, but really clear, and there's no big rocks. Just ... no diving off the high side. Sheriff will send you off in a hurry."

Tony shrugged. "Why not?"

"Old Man Winslow set up the rules way back when. Some kid dove off and broke his back. No one knows exactly how. So ... no diving." Jackson shook his head.

Tony, remembering the Winslow mess from years ago, asked, "How's that bunch doing?"

Jackson grumbled then said, "Whole family fell apart. Emily took Chris and went to Philly. Nick's in prison. Chuck drank himself into the hospital, then took off for God knows where. The mine's being run by some young thing from Missouri. Took a degree in mining from Rolla. Things are looking up on that front."

Tony folded the towel and dropped it into the laundry. "That's good. Safety features put in?"

"Yeah. And new fans, new elevator. Lots of things we needed way back when I was minin'. Too expensive was what we were told. But ... you know? Now that they've got all that new stuff, they've doubled production. Pay's up, too." Jackson shrugged. "Never say never, I guess."

Tony beamed at his old friend. "Movie title. Two points."

Jackson blinked. "Huh?"

Tony explained that the whole group was playing a game where they got points for using titles of movies in conversation. "Song titles are worth a point. It's fun." Tony nodded. "So, you've got two points."

"And who's keepin' track of this?" Jackson's amused tone had Tony smiling back.

"Me mostly. But Tim's keeping track too." Tony eyed the pile of dishes. "Okay, how are we gonna get that mess to the store without breaking something?"

"Box in the pantry. I'll get it." Jackson fetched the box.

While Tony was putting the dishes in it, Jackson went to check on progress.

"How's it goin', Leroy?"

Gibbs settled back on his heels. "Good. I'm tryin' to figure out how you got a rotten spot here. No leaks, nothin' sittin' here. Doesn't make sense. I'm gonna crawl under the porch and check for anything there. Don't want it rottin' out again."

Jackson contemplated the spot. "I think, when it rains, it blows in right there. Water sets. I'll just have to remember to sweep it off. Though why rain would cause dry rot, I'll never know." He settled into a chair to watch his son work.

"Okay. I'll give crawlin' under the porch a pass." He hammered in another nail. "Dad, I know you want to stay here as long as possible but ... there's some really nice places in DC."

Jackson nodded. "I know, son. Now stop fussin'. We'll deal when it's time; forget it for now."

"Okay. We're gonna go swimmin' later. You want to come? I know you won't swim, but you could sit and watch," Gibbs offered, even though he was pretty sure his Dad wouldn't want to sit around watching them play dolphin.

Jackson knew exactly what his son was up to. "Well, no, I'll admit that I need a bit of private time. Not used to havin' a crowd like this around. Not that you're not welcome but ..." he chuckled. "I'm old, and those boys are exhausting."

Gibbs' wry grin made Jackson smile back. "They can be. But I'm in better shape than I've been in years. Keepin' up with them ..." he shrugged and went back to his carpentry.

.

Remy finished mowing, then stuck the tank. It was nearly dry, so he decided to take the mower off, then run down to the station and fill it up. It wouldn't do to leave it empty, in case Jackson needed it for something.

He made a quick call to the Sheriff's Station and was told that, as long as he had a slow-moving-vehicle triangle on the back, he was okay to drive on the streets and secondary roads. He was also instructed to stay off the four-lane.

He drove to the filling station and pulled up at the pump. A boy came out and asked, "Need any help, sir?"

"No, I got it." Remy smiled at the kid who looked to be about seventeen. "Got a name?"

"Do. Evan. You new around here, or just visiting?" The kid settled in for a gossip.

"Just helping Mr. Gibbs for a bit. His son's a friend." Remy leaned against the tall rear tire.

"Ol' Mr. Gibbs? That's good. Hear his son's some sort of cop."

"Yeah, NCIS. Special Agent and team lead. Good guy to have on your side. Hell if he's pissed at you." Remy nodded.

"Well, glad to hear." The phone rang and Evan hurried to answer it.

Remy finished filling the tank and headed in to pay. Evan turned from his phone call, saying, "Look, I'll be there when I get there. I gotta go." He hung up the phone. "Sorry about that. My girlfriend can be a bit of a bitch."

"Can't they all. What's the damage?" Remy made a sympathetic face.

"She's planning a birthday party for her sister and she's makin' everyone nuts. Sister's only back from ... somewhere ... for a week. Wants to have a thing down at the Pit, and things are not coming together." He sighed. "Love her like, whoa, but ... I'm no party planner; more dumb muscle than anything." he laughed, took Remy's bill, and gave him the change.

Remy tucked the receipt and change into a pocket, then advised. "Just tell her you have no idea and offer to hump what needs humpin'. Best you can do."

"Okay, thanks. Good advice." Evan smiled.

Remy nodded at him and left to drive the tractor back to Jackson's place.

He wondered what else he needed to do with the tractor before they left. He realize with some dismay that the time for them to leave was day after tomorrow, if not sooner. But he was looking forward to the ride down to Louisiana and a visit with his Gran. He was startled to hear a yelp from a siren. He pulled off onto the shoulder and turned off the tractor.

Officer Trask had heard all about the mess with Dowd and Jackson Gibbs' car so he just got out of his cruiser and called, "Climb down, please."

Remy did so and stood by the tractor. "Is there a problem, Officer?"

"Don't know. ID please."

Remy produced his wallet, glad that he'd decided to take it, instead of just stuffing some money into his pocket. "If there's a problem, I'd ask you to call Jackson Gibbs."

"Okay. That's his tractor. So ... what are you doing with it?" Officer Trask wasn't about to create a scene before he was apprised of all the facts.

"I'm helping out around the place. I finished mowing and the tank was nearly empty, so I filled it up. I'm on the way back now." Remy watched as the officer talked to Dispatch.

"Okay, Dispatch says you have permission to have the tractor. Even called in to make sure you could drive on the streets. That's good. So, known Mr. Jack long?"

"No, just met him. But my pod lives with ... Leroy? We call him Jet." Remy, used to country ways, settled in for more gossip.

"Jet?" Officer Trask frowned over that one. "Oh! For Jethro. Heard he's a real hard-ass."

"He is, when he needs to be. Ever heard of NCIS? And he's a Marine." Remy grinned, "Not that that means much to me, bein' Navy an' all."

Trask chuckled. "I know about NCIS; they came around several years ago. Big mess with the Winslow family. Scandal ruined them. But ..." he stopped to listen to Dispatch. "Not me. So you're Navy. What do you do?"

"SEAL. My team all live with Jet, except for the CO. He lives with a friend. We're all on a road trip. Forced vacation." Remy grimaced. "Not that good an idea with us, but PTB ..." he shrugged. "What can you do?"

"I know. SEAL, huh? Heard a bit about qualifying for that. Not for me, thanks, I'm too lazy." Trask grinned. "I pass my evaluations and that's that." He patted a burgeoning muffin top. "Like my donuts too much."

Remy grinned back. "Me too. But ... you need to lose that. Hard on your heart." He cracked his back then said, "Well, nice to visit with you but I better be gettin' back before they send out a search party."

Trask nodded. "Get an ass-chewing?"

"No; CO'll take me on the mats and beat me like a drum. AJ's a good officer and takes our safety seriously. Wouldn't believe it, as he's a couple a' inches shorter than me and thirty or forty pounds lighter, but he carried me nearly 10 klicks. We both got shot all to hell, me worse than him, but I couldn't walk; got one in the thigh." Remy shook his head in remembrance. "Man's a beast. Seriously." He scrambled up to the driver's seat. "See you around."

Officer Trask offered Remy a sloppy salute. "See you."

.

Remy arrived back just in time to hear that they were going to go swimming at someplace called The Pit. After hearing about it and being assured by Jackson that it was safe enough, he was happy.

"Okay, everyone get their gear." Tony knew they'd been slacking and didn't mind but he did intend for all his pod to do some shallow water diving. Their gear included fins, masks, and snorkels. Everyone scrambled to change into swimming gear then get something back on over it.

Jackson watched as they checked everything, then got ready to leave.

Gibbs walked over to his father. "We'll pick up something to eat before we come back; you want me to bring you something?"

"I'll just microwave a dinner." Gibbs made a face. "Oh, don't give me that. I don't do it that often. I usually cook; but, once in a while, it's a lazy day. Now scat."

Gibbs grinned and scatted, mounting his motor and leading out.

The ride to the Pit only took a few minutes. They parked in what was obviously a well maintained gravel lot and got their gear. The walk to the actual pit was only about seventy-five feet.

The laughing group topped a small rise and realized that the rise was made of tailings from the nearby coal mine. The pit was what is usually called a clay pit, a hole that had been dug to get clay slurry that was used in the mining process. It had been abandoned in the late 1880's when different lubricants had been discovered. The water it now contained was clear and very cold. It was so clear that it was blue.

Tony nodded. "Gear up."

Everyone got out of their over clothing and put on fins and masks. Gibbs followed the rest, chuckling softly at the 'fin walk', the odd waddle forced on them from walking with swim fins on.

They waded out then slipped under the surface. Tim had snorkeled before so he just shoved the mouthpiece between his lips and started swimming. Jimmy had never, so Tony took a few minutes to explain the snorkel to him, then watched as he swam off. After he was sure that Jimmy was okay, Tony joined the pod and took the lead.

They swam several laps, then Tony gathered them in the middle of the pit. "Okay. We need a bit of diving practice. Remy, you and Jet. Cos, you and Jimmy. I'll pair with Tim. The rest of you just go down and explore a bit."

Gibbs proved to be a quick study. So did Tim, but for once Jimmy was having trouble. He just wasn't sure that the snorkel would keep the water out once he was submerged, so he was panting instead of breathing smoothly. Tony patiently coached him through diving and followed him down, keeping in his line of sight to reassure him that it was safe.

Gibbs found himself following Remy down to the bottom then back up again. He wondered what the point was, then realized that it didn't really make any difference; it was fun. He submerged again and started poking around in the rocks, just to find what kind of trash people had thrown in. Remy joined him and they enjoyed a few moments together, then Gibbs had to surface. Remy followed him.

"You okay?" Remy was concerned and showed it.

"Yeah. Just ran out of air." Gibbs drew in a deep breath.

"Okay. Need to build up your time a bit. Need at least five minutes to be able to get a good look around." Remy smiled when Gibbs just nodded and went under again.

Tim bobbed up next to Remy and spit out his mouthpiece to say, "I need to build up time. I can manage about two minutes." Remy stuck his mouthpiece back into his mouth and submerged without comment. Tim followed him.

Jimmy finally managed to go under and actually breathe through the snorkel, trusting it to keep the water out of the tube when it was completely submerged. He also went to the bottom to poke around amongst the rocks.

Tony checked on everyone, never realizing that he hadn't come up for air until Gibbs patted him on the shoulder, then grabbed his arm. Tony let Gibbs take him up then pulled his mask up. "Something?"

"Christ on a cracker, AJ. You okay?" Gibbs eyed Tony carefully.

"Yeah. I'm fine. Why?" Tony glanced at his watch.

"You were down a long time." Gibbs gave Tony a searching look.

"Only six minutes. That's about my limit when I'm active. I'm workin' on longer." Tony realized that he'd worried Gibbs by staying down so long.

"Oh, okay. Worried me a bit." Gibbs nodded, adjusted his mask and snorkel and went under again.

They swam around for a bit longer, poking into interesting things on the bottom, then Tony called them all out. "Okay, out. Warm up." This led them to the interesting practice of hugging a rock. The rocks were sun-warmed and felt good to the chilled men. Jimmy moved from one to the other, checking extremities and heart rates.

Tony called him over when he was done. "How is everyone?"

"Good. I want to listen to your lungs." Jimmy dropped his small bag on the ground and pulled out a stethoscope. Tony let Jimmy listen, breathing in and out on demand. "Well, sounds good. I don't want you getting a cold. Pneumonia will not do you any good."

"I know. Dry heat is good for me though." Tony made a face.

Jimmy chuckled. "But dust is not. Idiot."

"Geek."

Jimmy snorted. "Look who's talking, Mr. Multiple Masters in just about everything."

Tony held up his hands in defeat. "I give. More diving now."

They all waded back in to do more laps and a few more dives.

This time the exercise was interrupted by someone splashing into the pit from the top of the cliff.

Since sound waves travel through water just like they do air, everyone came to the surface to see what was going on. What they saw resulted in a flurry of activity. Whoever had jumped from the cliff had knocked himself out and he was now floating, face down, in the middle of the pit.

Tony flipped him onto his back, checked to see if he was breathing then began to tow him to the shore. Jimmy didn't bother to try to check the boy, he swam to the shore as quickly as he could and began to set up for triage. He was followed by Tim, Dean and Remy. Gibbs paced Tony in case he needed help. Cosmo took the other side of Tony. It only took a few seconds to get the boy to the shore.

They heard yelling from the top of the cliff and Gibbs replied in a DI bellow that carried like a bullhorn. "You get down here now. All of you. Someone call 9-1-1. Move it."

They heard a car start and running feet. Tony pulled his rescue out of the water and put him down on the beach. Jimmy was right there and started drowning procedures at once.

It wasn't long before the boy was coughing up water, gasping and choking. Jimmy rolled him into recovery position and put one hand on his shoulder. "Stay there. Blanket?" A girl rushed up with an old quilt and shoved it into Jimmy's groping hand.

Gibbs helped Jimmy get the boy upright and wrapped in the blanket. "What next?"

"Fire. Just a small one. He's chilled through and shocky." Jimmy glowered around. "Any of you lugnuts call 9-1-1?" Every single one of the group looked at someone else. "Okay. Dumbasses, the lot of you. Cos, call 9-1-1."

Cosmo found his phone and called. He gave the information and relayed that there was a physician on site but they didn't have much equipment. He was told that ETA was about ten minutes. He relayed that to Jimmy who just nodded.

Then they were surrounded by screaming, crying, chattering kids. Gibbs blew his top, followed by Tony.

"Shut the fuck up!" The shrill whistle that accompanied this caught everyone's attention. "Everyone calm down. An ambulance is on the way. Dr. Palmer is in charge until the EMTs arrive. Sit down, be quiet and get ready to make a statement."

A police cruised arrived seconds later and two officers got out. They hurried over to check on the boy, whose name turned out to be Frank.

"Okay, what's going on here?" The lady cop took charge of the kids, rounding them up and settling them on a nearby group of benches.

The other officer came to check on Frank. "Hi. Let me take a look here." He started the standard health checks, "I understand that one of you is a doctor? Of what?"

Jimmy nodded. "I am. Medicine." Jimmy went through vitals and all the other things that needed to be on Frank's chart. "I think he'll be okay. We got to him in good time and I started treatment at once. He was face down for no more than ten seconds and responded immediately to treatment. He needs oxygen and treatment to dry out his lungs." Jimmy had learned that nothing made a certain type of person impatient quicker than getting an explanation that didn't make sense to him—jargon-laden babble, in other words.

Officer Gladden nodded. "Any idea what the hell happened?"

Tony took over, leaving Jimmy to return to his patient. "Nope. We were diving, just messing around and looking at the bottom. There was a splash so we all surfaced. I saw him jelly-fishing and grabbed him. Hauled him to the shore, and Jimmy took over. Now you know as much as we do. I'd be asking that M.O.I. some pretty searching questions. I mean ... It's posted, man, no diving from cliff. So ... CDF is not so common. And, seriously, this is UFO, TARFUN. There isn't a BAG in the bunch. It's too bad that ignorance isn't painful. That bunch of NUB's needs a Number 10 sort-out."

Officer Gladden gave him a blank look, then said, "What service?"

Tony sighed. "Navy." He pointed to everyone and gave the officer their service. "And, if Gibbs finds out that someone threw him off and gets hold of them ... well, BDD will 2-6-10 'em. With prejudice."

When he noticed the expression on the officers face he explained. "MOI is mob of idiots. CDF, common dog fucker or common sense. UFO, Utterly Fucked Over. BAG, bad ass guy. NUB, Non-useful Body. Number 10 sort out, kick in the ass. BDD, big damn dog is Gibbs."

Officer Gladden nodded. "And I know 2-6-10." He scribbled notes quickly. "Where the hell is the ambulance?!" He contacted dispatch, listened then snarled, "No, bottom parking lot. Someone either jumped or was thrown off the cliffs." He went back to making notes, shaking his head.

Tony eyed Frank for a moment. "He'll be okay. I really think he just got a gut full of water and a nasty scare."

The lady cop, meanwhile, wasn't making much headway with the group of teenagers. All she'd gotten was that it was a birthday party for one of the girls and no one really had any idea how Frank had gotten from the park at the top of the cliffs, called unimaginatively, Cliff-top Park, and into the Pit.

Remy wandered over for lack of anything more intelligent to do and found himself face to face with the attendant from the gas station. "Hey! Evan? That your name?"

Evan nodded. "Yeah. What a mess. Carol and I got everything together, we saw you guys at the Pit and decided to go up top. There's plenty of room for everyone without us getting into your space. We set everything out and started ... you know, just fooling around. Then ... I went off with Carol for a bit. No ... nothing I couldn't tell her parents about, she's Christian and so am I, so get that look off your face, man." Remy shrugged and spread his hands. Evan smiled, "So anyway, next thing I know Bev is screaming her head off and we hear someone yell for us all to get down there now. And," he sighed, "here we are."

Remy glanced up as the ambulance finally showed. "Ambulance. Wonder if I should..." Remy looked at Jimmy who motioned for him to stay where he was. "Okay. So. What do you think happened?"

"Um ... Frank's not that much of a risk-taker, so someone had to push or throw him off. Bev would never. She's in the Army and really responsible. She's a teetotaller and doesn't drink at all, and ..." Evan frowned. "I don't remember seeing any beer, just some O'Douls."

Remy made a gagging sound. "How anyone can drink that horse piss is beyond me."

Evan shook his head. "I get a beer from my Dad now and then. He's all ...learn to drink responsibly, like a man should ... and all that." he frowned. "No one has the excuse of being drunk. Don't know who or why. Sorry."

Remy thought. "Well, we know a few things. No one was drinking. That's something."

Just then the ambulance took off with a rasp of gravel. Jimmy returned to the pod to wait for developments.

Officer Kelly Pride was a local, born and raised not a mile from The Pit. She was not a happy bunny right now. "Excuse me." The strange man and Evan both looked at her. "Sir, I'll have to ask you to return to your group." The man just stood and looked at her. "Sir."

"Yes?" Remy hated polite nothings with a passion and tended to ignore them. In this case it was easy as the officer hadn't asked him to do anything.

"I asked you to return to your group." Officer Pride sighed.

"No, you didn't. You said you'd have to but you never did." Remy looked down on the woman, an easy thing to do when you were 6'2" and the officer was around 5'7".

"Okay. Please return to your group and stay there."

Remy eyeballed her then wandered away.

Gibbs snorted, "They're never gonna get to the bottom of this. Too much pandering to tender teenaged angst and not enough investigation."

Tony nodded. "That's right. God forbid that someone actually do something. I remember."

Gibbs made a face. "Locals closing ranks against foreigners."

Tim scowled; his own memories were as sharp as his teammates'.

Sheriff Gantry arrived in his private truck. "Leroy."

"Ed."

"What the hell?" Ed Gantry and the Chief of Police always had a bit of a rivalry over this area. Part of it was in the county and part in the city. As it happened, the line went through the middle of the Pit, putting Cliff-top in the city and the Lower Lot in the county.

Gibbs gave him a quick rundown then said, "Need any help?"

Ed eyed the two cops then shrugged, "Up to you. Hear you're a great interrogator."

"I am." Gibbs nodded at one of the boys. "Wanna talk to him first."

Ed eyed him too. "Looks awful nervous." He caught the boy's eye and jerked his head. "Over here, Marty."

Marty got up, urged on by his friends. "Yeah?"

Ed just scowled at him while Gibbs sideoogled him, which made him even more nervous.

"You wanna tell me just exactly what you bunch a idjits were up to?" Gibbs barked at him.

Marty jumped a foot and turned to look at his friends. Sheriff Gantry ordered, "Look at me."

Marty turned to look at the sheriff while Gibbs glowered at the other teens. He turned to glower at Marty. "Okay, again. What were you up to?"

"Um ... we ... we ... Frank was always bragging how he'd dive off the cliffs, but it's against the law. Only it isn't." He scowled at his boots. "I checked."

Sheriff looked at him for a moment then offered, in an coldly controlled tone. "It's not. But it is against park rules."

Marty kicked a toe into the dirt. "Well. But it's not a law."

Gibbs smirked, "We're getting off the subject. What happened?" It seemed that he and Ed worked well together.

"Okay ... so ... um ... Arny and I―" the sheriff gave him a look. "Arnold Montrose. We decided to just ... throw him over. Grabbed him and pitched him off the cliff. Figured he'd have enough time to ... well, turn around and dive in." He took a deep shuddering breath. "We didn't mean to hurt him, just ... you know." He shrugged, staring at his feet.

"Yeah, I know. Dumbass." Gibbs sighed. "Chicken, in reverse, Ed."

The sheriff sighed. "Okay. We could bring them up on charges of assault. I'll have to speak with the Prosecutor." He turned to look at Marty. "And their parents."

Just then Officer Pride came over. "Well, I can't get shit out of any of them. Donald Henderson just pulled out the lawyer card. Wants his Dad." Gibbs made a questioning sound. "A lawyer."

Gibbs said, "Ah," then walked away. It was time to let Ed deal with his own dirty linen.

Tony, meanwhile, was getting the lowdown from Bev, Carol, and Evan. He decided to just let things go, as Evan and Carol had already called their parents. Bev was of age, but agreed with their father that she and Carol should come home. Evan nodded, saying, "We need to go back up top and get our stuff. Head on home and hang there until we find out how Frank is."

Tony glanced at Jimmy. "Gremlin?"

"He'll be okay. He got a lungful of water, but it's really clean. A breathing treatment or two, some antibiotic to ward off pneumonia, and he'll be fine. Don't worry," he smiled at Bev. "I'm sorry your birthday party was ruined."

Bev just grinned. "I don't care. I'm just happy to be off rotation and home."

Tony held out his hand. "Welcome home. Soldier?"

Bev recognized an officer when she saw one. "Sir. Yes, sir. Stationed out of ... um ... classified, sir." She shook his hand.

Tony laughed. "I understand. Just glad to see you home in one piece."

Bev smiled at Tony's laugh. "Sailor?"

"Yup. SEAL, believe it or not."

"Oh." Bev blinked. "Wow." She looked around, noticing that four other men held themselves in that particular way. "Gentlemen." She nodded to Tony.

A car pulled into the lot and a couple got out. They looked around, then hurried over to the group of boys. "No one say anything." The man then turned to Officer Pride. "Ok. Talk to me."

Officer Pride wasn't having any of that. "I'll write my report and give it to the Chief. He'll send you on one, if he feels you need it."

"What are the charges?" The man didn't seem like a lot of lawyers, he was quiet and polite.

"Nothing yet. And for this lot? Nothing. They haven't been drinking, didn't have anything to do with the event ... they did sort of close up. But ... I don't think there will be any charges. They didn't do anything wrong." She frowned at her book. "I'd just like to know what happened for real. Not all that dancing around they were doing."

Officers Pride and Gladden compared notes then went to speak to the sheriff.

Officer Gladden, as senior officer, consulted with the sheriff. "Well, we've got an assault, but no drunks or vandalism. I think our best bet is to call all the parents and let them deal."

Sheriff Gantry nodded. "My feelings exactly. I think Marty and Arny need to go to the Sheriff's Station or the Jail to wait. Give 'em something to think about."

Officer Pride nodded. "Good idea. Shame about Bev's welcome-home birthday bash though."

Sheriff Gantry just got out his phone and made some calls. The two officers returned to their car and headed off to the hospital to interview Frank.

Gibbs rubbed his face. "Damn, what a Charlie Foxtrot. Those kids, Marty and Arny? What the hell were they thinking?"

"Probably weren't. Nuts got in the way of brains." Ed looked down the short drive to the blacktop and grumbled, "Well, here come some of the parents. And a few rubber-neckers."

Gibbs nodded in the direction of the pod. "I can lend you DiNozzo and McGee. They have some experience in traffic control."

Ed snorted. "Won't need it, but thanks." He stomped off, yelling at the first car, "Out! Turn around and leave! No gawking." The car turned and moved back out the drive. The sheriff motioned to the next car to pull around the edge of the parking lot. "Park there." It didn't take him long to sort things out and get the gawkers on their way and the parents organized.

It was then a scene that the sheriff had seen many times. Parents berated their children, then found out that they hadn't done anything wrong and they had been called to comfort them, not yell at them. Then the hugging and crying began. And the thanking. Everyone wanted to thank the group for saving Frank. Gibbs managed to ease away and go sit on his motor. Cosmo joined him within five minutes with Dean right behind him. Tim endured tearful thanks from someone for something, managed to get away himself and went to hide in the john until the mess cleared; he was quickly joined by Jimmy. Tony and Remy simply faded into the nearby woods and circled back, taking their time.

The pod gathered back at their motors as soon as the lot was cleared. The only person still there was a sheriff's deputy who just nodded to them and watched as they packed up their gear, 'suited up' and rode away.

.

Jackson Gibbs liked to sit at his kitchen table and drink coffee and listen to the radio. He was listening when a news flash about a boy who nearly drowned came on the air. He listened with dismay and pride as the anchor told how a group of visitors had saved the local boy. Further news to follow.

He smiled into his cup as he realized that the brave men with military bearing were his son and friends. He wasn't a bit surprised to hear the rumble of motors as the men returned early from their swim. He wondered what he was going to do for supper.

Gibbs dismounted, put his helmet and leathers away and headed for the house. "Dad, we're home."

"I see that, Leroy, no need to shout. I'm just wonderin' what you boys want for supper." Jackson accepted the hug with pleasure. He had no idea what the heck it was for but he really didn't care. "Well, I was."

The rest of the pod followed Gibbs in, making it in the door in time to see the hug. They all smiled, or laughed. When Jackson turned around they were all snickering.

"Jackson, you're something else." Tony patted him on the shoulder. "We'll figure out something. What do you have?"

"Not much of anything. Best is to call down to Myrtle's Bar and Grill and get tenderloins."

They all jumped when the doorbell rang. Gibbs was twitchy so Jimmy answered the door, backed by Remy. The reporter who'd had nerve enough to try to interview them was startled to be faced, not with some ordinary man who would be delighted to speak to him, but by a hard-faced, no-nonsense person who didn't want anything to do with him.

Jimmy eyed the reporter and his microphone with disfavor. "Can I help you?" He blocked the door with his body. Remy backed him up.

"Yes. My name is John Smith from WKOR TV. I'd like to interview you and the gentleman who saved young Franklin Mathews." He started to push his way in.

"I did not invite you in. Get off the porch." Jimmy leaned on the door to keep the reporter from pushing in.

"I'm sure the brave men would like to speak to me." The reporter put on his best public smile.

"I'm sure we don't."

"The people have the right to know." This one usually worked and Mr. Smith was proud of that fact.

"Actually, they don't; the fallacy that the first amendment protects the right to pry into private business is exactly that, a fallacy. It only protects the press in their right to report on political issues. Get. Off. The. Porch." Jimmy was beginning to get annoyed and he didn't mind letting the reporter know it.

Mr. Smith, for his part, knew when to cut his losses and go away. Not far, but away. He turned to the camera and said, "Well, it seems that our heroes are a bit shy. We'll see if they'll speak to us a little later." He got off the porch and returned to his van. He was joined by two newspaper reporters, another TV channel, and a radio station intern who was hoping for his first story.

Jackson called the Police Station on the non-emergency line and asked for crowd control. Two cars showed up and told the reporters to clear the road. They also told them to stay off the lawns. This put them in the unenviable position of having no place to park on the narrow street, and they certainly were not going to be allowed to park on someone's lawn. They'd been run out of the lot across the street by the indignant owner who wanted to know if they thought it was a public parking lot. They finally had to leave, having no place to park.

Jackson looked out his window then said, "Put down the blinds and pull the curtains. I called for food while all this was going on. Hope you all like tenderloins an' fries. Had Jamie bring a case of beer too." He shook his head. "The nerve of some folks."

It wasn't long before there was another knock at the door. This one was a bit tentative, as if the knocker wasn't sure anyone was home. Remy answered the door with Cosmo as backup; no one was answering the door alone, not with that pack of hyenas outside. And the back door was locked for the first time in forty years, or more. Gibbs and Dean had had a time getting the lock to work at all. A squirt of DW-40 hadn't done the job.

The boy at the door was holding a brown paper bag with grease spots on it, and a cooler. Remy took the bag off the top of the cooler and handed it off to Dean. He took the cooler and motioned to Gibbs. "Pay the man, will you?"

Gibbs nodded and went to the door. "What do we owe?"

The delivery boy was decidedly nervous. "Um ... nothing ... sir ... um ... my boss said that it was free, as Frank is some sort of relative or other." He gulped, then motioned to the street. "And ... you ought to call ... someone. The street is blocked by all sorts of ... idiots. I rode in on my scooter, so it wasn't a problem for me, but no one in a car or anything can get through."

Gibbs handed the boy some money and said, "Take it. You went to a lot of trouble to get here and tell your boss thanks. Ok?"

"Sure. And thanks for the tip. It'll really come in handy for gas money. I'm tryin' to save up for college and every bit helps." He eyed the street for a moment. "I really hate going back through that mess. Every single one of them tried to stop me and ask idiot questions." He sighed. "Damn."

Gibbs nodded. "You know the back way. Use it. No one's gonna say anything."

The boy nodded. "Thanks. Enjoy your food. Bye." He hurried down the steps and got on his scooter; he looked around then drove around the corner of the house and putted up a footpath and disappeared.

They all gathered in the kitchen. Remy started handing out sandwiches and realized that the smallest one was the size of a dinner plate. Jackson snickered at his expression and said, "One of you boys get the mustard and pickles out of the fridge. And there's more buns in the breadbox. I'm sure we'll need a few extra."

Dean opened his sandwich to see what was on it. "Naked, thank the PTB. I hate having to scrape ketchup off something."

Tony agreed that tenderloins didn't need ketchup or mayo as he cut his into quarters. "I swear there should be a law, or something. There needs to be enough bread for the ... whatever. Fries?"

Remy nodded. "Yeah." he rummaged in the bag. "Oh. And packets of ... stuff." He dumped a handful of restaurant packs of mustard, mayo, ketchup and hot sauce onto the table.

The group happily cut their tenderloins into more manageable pieces, put them on buns and added mustard and pickles. Fries were dumped onto a platter, since Jackson said he didn't care how clean a table was, food belonged on a plate. Plates were handed round and they all began to eat.

Jackson had just taken a bite of his food when the phone began to ring. Tony was nearest and didn't have a mouthful, so he answered it. "Gibbs residence." He listened for a moment, then said, "No comment. Do not call here again." He hung up, then put the handset down beside the phone. "TV station. The idiot demanded a statement."

Jackson sighed. "They're not gonna give up, you know."

Tim nodded. "They probably won't. I could publish a statement on this board I have access to, but I'm not sure it'll do any good."

Gibbs thought while he chewed, he swallowed then said, "Give it a try. When we're done eating, I'll call the police. See if they can't get those trucks out of the street. People are gonna start complainin' that they can't get through."

The phone soon rang again. This time it was a radio station; the sound man was very glad for the three-second delay the owner insisted on. Dean slammed the phone down and demanded, "Who the hell put that damn thing back on the hook?"

Cosmo shamefacedly held up his hand. Dean gave him a look. "Sorry."

They were just finishing up their fries when someone knocked on the door. Jackson snarled, "If that's another one of those sons a bitches, kick 'em off the porch."

It turned out it was the Chief of Police. He nodded to the group. "Jackson. Leroy. Gentlemen. Got a problem and I don't know what to do about it."

Jackson motioned to the kitchen. "Come in an' take a load off." He led the way and settled at the head of the table.

The chief took the foot and Tony and Gibbs sat too. The rest of the pod settled around the kitchen counters, leaning here and there.

Gibbs eyed the man for a moment. He didn't know him, as he was another import from upstate. Nothing wrong with that; it just meant that Gibbs wasn't familiar with him. "Okay, what's the problem, and how can we help?"

The chief sighed. "The news media has worked itself into a frenzy. They're determined to find out everything about all of you and they're making a real nuisance of themselves. They're bothering the neighbors, blocking the streets, and frying the airwaves. They're even messing up the police radios somehow."

Tim cleared his throat. "Long story short. The satellite dishes they use can mess up all sorts of things. Your radios, TV signals, phones. You name it. And the only thing you can do is call the FCC and complain."

Chief Willard sighed, "The other thing I can do is ask you all to leave town until this mess blows over. And I hate to. You're not doing anything wrong; in fact, you're heroes. But it's causing all sorts of trouble." He took the mug of coffee he was offered, took a sip, then sat, staring into the coffee with a disgusted expression on his face.

Jackson nodded. "Okay, boys, we take a vote. All in favor of takin' off." He raised his hand. "I'm goin' down to Orangeville. I'll stay with Stan Barnwell for a couple of days. He's Jan Barnwell's younger brother. You remember him, Leroy?"

Gibbs did. "Yeah. He was the man who took us fishin' in his own trout stream. Nice guy."

"He's passed, but his brother ... Stan is the youngest, while Jan was the oldest ... Stan took over the place. Got a standing invitation. Think I'll take him up on it." Jackson looked around and knew he'd made the right decision; all the boys looked relieved. "I'll lock the place up. Just hope none of those news hounds decide to break in and have a look-see. And I'll call Mrs. Owens again, she'll keep store for me."

Tony took vote by eye and said, "We'll all go too. No sense in tryin' to have any fun with everyone gawkin' and whisperin'. We go to bed soon, get up real early and head out."

Dean suddenly let out a yelp. "The motors. We completely forgot. They're just out there behind the house. If someone's messed with them I'll ..."

There was a concerted rush to the back door. Everyone piled out in a stack, spreading out to present the smallest grouping. Chief Willard admired their organization and told Jackson. "Man, they are good."

Jackson nodded. "They are. My boy, Leroy, was a Marine, those four are SEAL's and the other two are NCIS." The chief nodded his understanding and they watched as the group cleared the area and secured the motors, moving them closer to the back porch. They also locked the garage to secure Jackson's truck. Tony then set Cosmo and Dean to watch their vehicles and the garage for the first watch. He and Remy would take the second and Gibbs, father and son, would take third, since they would be up anyway.

"Okay, that's that. We'll head out at 0600." Gibbs scowled. "Dad, any food that needs something done with it?"

"No. There's some eggs, but they'll keep. I was plannin' on sendin' one of you boys out for more in the morning." He eyed the light that flashed across his windows. "Willard, do something about that. I'm goin' to bed." He stomped off, muttering darkly.

Tony scowled. "Yes, Chief, I'd do something about that PDQ, or I'll take care of it."

Chief Willard sighed, "Don't doubt that for a second." He left, hitching his equipment belt up in irritation.

They could hear him yelling at the spot-lighter as he left. They also heard his bull horn instructing the vehicles blocking the thoroughfare that they were all going to be ticketed if they weren't gone in ten minutes and not to return.

.

The next morning was organized chaos, Gibbs woke Tony, who woke everyone else. While Tony was getting everyone else up, Gibbs made coffee. Jackson called Mrs. Owens and made arrangements; he also called Stan Barnwell, who'd already heard about the mess and was delighted to host Jackson for as long as necessary.

They were up, had coffee, and were on their way by 0630.

It only took them a couple of minutes to get their gear into the saddle bags and trunks. The trailer had been left packed up. Jackson tossed his suitcase into the bed of his truck and got in.

Remy rolled the door back and Jackson pulled out. Remy then closed the door and padlocked it.

Everyone got their gear on, checked radios and started up.

Gibbs nodded to Tony. Tony pumped his fist in the air and said, "Okay, head out. Fast."

The sudden roar of motors woke the few neighbors who were still sleeping. Four tons of American heavy metal in the embodiment of six Harleys, a bastard trike, and a half-ton Ford truck rumbled out of the drive, building up speed all the way. They took a hard left and headed for the highway, blowing past the hovering news vans with utter disdain.

There was a scramble to try to catch up with them, but it failed from the start. By the time anyone actually managed to do anything, the group was out of sight.

Tony asked Jackson, "Gramps, you want in the lead?"

"No, I'm okay right here." Jackson was in the back of the rumble. "I'm gonna peel off in about six miles; short cut. You won't want to go my way; it's mostly blacktop and gravel."

Remy chimed in, "You do realize that we're goin' about 90, right?"

Gibbs snorted. "So?"

Dean added, "You really think the Sheriff or the Highway Patrol are gonna bother us?"

Tim, comfortably seated behind Jimmy, said, "Probably not. I bet they all just want us gone."

They were all amused to see a Highway Patrol car pace them for a bit. The patrolman didn't try to stop them; in fact, just before he dropped back, he waved to them.

Jackson reached his turnoff. "How am I gonna get your gear back to you?"

Tim replied, "Don't bother. You'll need it again. Bye."

Gibbs eased off the gas to give Jackson one last look at them "Bye, Dad. Email me so I can practice."

"Okay. And I'll email the rest of you too. Got your addies from Tim. You all take care of each other. Bye." And he took his turn, leaving them to increase their speed back to the legal limit and continue on their way home.

{not sure that there's much more to say. Next story starts about two days later. It's my NaNo. *G*}

PD - Psychological Dominance

The Salmon Ladder is and exercise rack made popular by its appearance on the TV show Arrow. You can see it in action by googling it on YouTube.

[That's High Explosives; the American Air Force used a lot of that in WWII: carpet-bombing from B17s and B24s; not high-precision, but high-saturation work. Lots of collateral damage.]

(2) I've actually seen this happen in real life.

Number 10 sort out. - kick in the ass

2-6-10 - it will take two surgeons six hours to take his number 10 boot out of his ass.


End file.
